The obruni's northern Ghana weird-looking tribal guy

It's a CARVING, not a real guy. Minds out of the gutter...minds out of the gutter...minds out of the gutter.

Hello from the Vodaphone Internet Cafe in Ushertown, Accra, where all the keyboard keys are in different places. So I apologize for the typos and unusual stuff you may find. And I can't upload photos either.

I've learned something about myself.  When I'm "on a mission" so to speak, I am tireless, complaint-free and nothing bothers me.  Once the mission is complete, however, that all changes.

The Osaken Beach Resort is nice enough but the heat and humidity are unbearable today for some reason.  My shower didn't work this morning...I can't find my phone charger.  It's all falling apart. Bea did come in by bus today. She brought my kente cloth purchases..well, some of them...and took me to the African Cultural Center to pick up a few souvenirs.  I was glad she came because that place is crazy for an obruni like me.  Haggling is the way it's done, my dear readers. And as I mentioned, I am the worst haggler ever. I just want to enter, locate, pay and leave.

The Cultural Center is a maze of merchant booths. After awhile - not too long of a while either - all the stuff looks alike and I can't remember what I liked where.  Bea is used to this and she was a little impatient with my indecision.  Finding a drum for my grandson was easy.  Finding other things...not so easy. 

After some time wandering, I found a large carving of guy who I like. He's a little goofy-looking but that's what I like about him. He has character.  70 Ghana cedis, says the merchant guy.  I was hot, I was tired, I was annoyed, and my water bottle had been empty for some time.  My obruni answer?

Me: "You're kidding, right?"

Guy: It's an antique! It's 180 years old! He thumps my tribal guy on the head.

Me: He LOOKS 180 years old. It's dirty.

Guy: I'll clean it for you. How much you give?

Me: 70 is too much. It's way too much.

(Bea, who had previously negotiated the drum purchase, beams with pride at her little obruni).

Guy: How about 60?

Me: What do you take me for? Some helpless obruni? (Of course, he doesn't know that I AM a helpless obruni...but I am faking it well right now.  I can get on a roll when I'm cranky. Especially when I feel like I'm getting ripped off.)

Guy: Ok. You tell me what you give and I take it.

Me:  $20.

Guy:  Oh no no no. This is 180 years old, Ma'am.

Me: And LOOKS EVERY DAY of 180! I'm going to have to polish it up when I get home and 20 cedis is all I can afford and still eat -- so 20 or I go home.  (Bea is bursting her buttons with pride.)

Guy: Ok ok. You a nice lady. But don't tell anybody.

He cleans and bags my northern Ghana weird-looking tribal guy.

Bea said she has never seen a white person get a merchant down so far. I tell her that I've learned well from watching her!  We walk a mile back to the hotel in the hot sun with my northern Ghana weird-looking tribal guy (the CARVING, not a real guy!), and have lunch by the ocean.

So the moral of this story is this: If you are ever in Accra, and venture out to the African Cultural Center, the guy at the wood carving stall, 3 stalls down from the woven picture stall, and just to the right of the ebony stall, will come down quite a bit. 

But you didn't hear it from me.