Some days are like that. If you are on the road and it turns that way the more adventurous things become. Fortunately, this was Accra and it was all in just one evening, Friday night to be precise.
First, I had to take care of judging duties at the grand finale of this year’s Miss Tourism Pageant at the National Theatre. This year’s event featured 13 stunning ladies with loads of confidence. At the end of the day Miss Geraldine Atta Sappor captured the crown. Maya Opoku and Akorfa Daniella followed in that order of glory.
Cool evening, poet and artiste Chris Sefogah was my revelation. Guy is good and I plan to use him in future. At the end of the affair, it was close to midnight. But home was not in my equation yet.
My guy PaJohn Dadson, had sneaked into the hall, halfway through the event. His text message to me had announced that ‘he owes me a debriefing after his latest Wango Wango trip to Kakum Park.
The guy is doing great things. Plus he had sent an earlier message which had had my blood boiling all day. Remember the Osu Night Market fiesta last December that I told you about? PaJohn, the socialite had texted that there was going to be another event tonight. Having secured the kind permission of a certain Mrs. A, I was poised to face a long night.
I had tried to recruit event MC, Kojo Akoto Boateng, to come along. But before one could say ‘CITI FM’ the guy had reached Madina. Well, PaJohn and I cut through the event crowd, reunited and hit the street within minutes.
We drove through the Ministries Area, joined the High Street, sped in front of the Independence Square and branched off into the Osu night market.
As soon as we got down we thought something was odd. There was no crowd, no sound and no bright light. Not even a mounted stage. Only a few sellers at the market. Yes it was past midnight but things couldn’t have ended if really there was a gig. We both looked like we had missed a flight.
‘Wait a minute’, PaJohn says. He brings out his phone’ scrolls and I hear ‘Oooo, hmm!’ ‘It is supposed to be the 19th, not today’. He shows me his phone. Hard luck for us.
Not to make the situation worse than it already is we begin to think creative. We start glancing around.
‘Kenkey?’‘Yes, sah!’
Like disappointed false start athletes we want to be very sure of our next move. Which of the kenkey stalls do we settle on? Across the street we try to predict. We decide to ask. First passerby watches the lineup of kenkey sellers and picks out one covered with blue rubber.
Next bloke just says the best kenkey didn’t come today. When we ask him, a third just pointed directly at another kenkey stall. ‘Please don’t point’ we both hush him.
We get there. Fried fish like I like them, small-shaped and varied. (Actually, what I call seafood). Wish my kenkey accomplice, Effie Ansah, was here. So we order. But kenkey seller Doris Anyeley had a caveat. She didn’t have freshly ground pepper. Just black. Shitodin.
PaJohn looks at me, I know. Doesn’t seem to be our day. How do you demolish kenkey without fresh red pepper? Woman notices our discomfort. Auntie Anyeley asks colleague who agrees to offer us her pepper sauce.
Next thing I remember we are both seated for action. I watch PaJohn draw first blood. I go for the jugular with flat fish; don’t worry about the name. Awesome. I announce the verdict.
PaJohn is angling for a kenkey ball attack. But he hears me, stops midstream and diverts his energies towards the fish plate. He executes a clean hand slaughter of the fried fish and sends the prize into his mouth. His eyes are closed. Hmmm. He moans.
I groan and repeat my fried fish inroad; this time, taking time to dip it into freshly ground tomatoes, onion and pepper. After a few seconds, I was assured that fish had soaked pepper. Great stuff.
Now, I turned to hot kenkey to show me what it’s got. I half unwrapped the ball in a three-action move. (Never disconnect kenkey from the husk while eating it),
By now PaJohn is rolling a ball between all of his forefingers. I copy his technique. After all, the guy is a chef. The kenkey feels friendly to my fingers. It pampers my palate and descends smoothly. Life is good.
Sitting on two opposing benches with a table between us, we counter and complement each other’s moves. The task involves hand shuffles between kenkey, fish, pepper and mouth. Any observer might think we were two Russian chess players at a world championship.
Findings: excellent. Conclusion: we could have more. Recommendation: Let’s carry some away to our homes to see what fate awaited them. Meanwhile, the consensus to discipline our appetite as we didn’t know what other meal may appeal to us.
Wrong calculations. All the places we visit after are closed or don’t; entice us enough to top up the kenkey. We leave Osu. We cut through Ridge Roundabout and Cathedral (The police have mounted stops which is good) Strawberry Pub is closed so we go on. Adabraka, did the Circle overhead and headed towards Kokomlele.
We drive towards the back of Malata Market and head excitedly towards another pub, One Corner. Again we are disappointed. This place is closed. We know that the following such as Boomerang, Warehouse and Tip Toe are also out of business.
In our two–car convoy we continued through C’est Si Bon, connected to the Nima Roundabout and descended towards the Ring Road.
Still feeling inadequate we wanted to achieve closure. We had to get redemption in Osu. The Republic welcomes us with open arms. This place is world famous for its local-gin inspired cocktails. PaJohn and I sat among the customers outside to chit-chat about us and our dear Ghana.
After a while we decided to check up another joint, The Kona, also on the Oxford Street. Furniture here is made of wooden crates and barrel-like drums. If you want fresh coconut at 3 am, here is where you come.
They also have loads of calabashes on display and palm wine. Grilled meat is also beckoning. PaJohn and I settle down to debate what to have here.
Some nights are like that!
kofiakpabli@yahoo.com
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