Another Goodbye

The politician in my office has left the building. Horse teeth guy managed to wangle his way to Indonesia for a year, it could be longer. I’m happy for him, he’s gone so I don’t have to deal with his two-facedness, and hopefully his travel outside of Africa will teach him that the world doesn’t begin and end with Accra. I do wonder how he’s going to cope with the food, he’s a strictly banku and kenkey man, he’s not so adventurous with his food, but it’s good for him. I think any type of travel is healthy. Living in one corner of the world makes your mind open up. In the same way the white man comes here and sees that the blacks are not all pot belly under nourished people who swing from trees, thinking we all live here in abject poverty. The black man will see that the white man (and when I use this term, I mean that all those that are not “black”) are just like us, 10 fingers, 10 toes, red blood, some are rich while some are poor. They do not bathe in holy water, we are all the same.

For the send off party we had a lunch at Tante Marie at the Accra Mall. What can I say, please note I am trying to stay as positive as I can in my blogs and a little less catty, but well, the food was nice, but that’s the most positive thing I had to say. First of all, before we set off, class prefect asked us to note down what we wanted as a starter. The reason being that we had given ourselves 2 hours (as we like to work) and it would make the eating process faster. You would think, wrong. About 6 of us got there at 12. Some others got there at 1. The remaining arrived at around 1.30. By the time our starter arrived so had the second group, so that was 30 minutes. The waiter then thought it would be a plan to wait until everyone had got their starter before he started with the main dish. Had we not called him after almost an hour after we arrived, we probably would still be waiting today.

So eventually the main meal arrives. I had ordered Semolina with Tilapia while some others had ordered other varieties such as Banku or Atieyke (don’t think I got the spelling right but it is an Ivorian dish and it’s a casava based product, kind of like couscous). The first order came out. The waiter said that it was Banku and Tilapia. I thought it looked to pale to be Banku, but before I even had a chance to ask, loud mouth girl (who is back from maternity leave) had grabbed the plate and started eating. She said (while the food flew out of the mouth as she spoke) “this banku tastes funny, like it has gone off”, a little while later 2 more plates of banku and tilapia came by the other people’s orders arrived, my order had not arrived. Then I say, “are you sure that isn’t my Semovita”, her colleague who had been picking off loud girls plate said “I was about to say this taste’s like Semolina”.

The waiter came back, and I let rip, I am pretty certain he spat in my food when my food did eventually arrive, I got up, spoke to the manager and well I was pretty hungry and pretty emotional, so she should understand that I wasn’t a happy bunny. The woman was very apologetic, and gave me an extra large fish and big semolina ball, but really, I am only 5″4, how much can my stomach take, and after waiting so long (in the end after arriving at 12, I ate at almost 2) I wasn’t all that hungry any more. My annoyance wasn’t so much that the service was slow, but the fact that the waiter didn’t know what he was serving. Surely even if it was his first day, the cook must have told him what he was bringing to the table, the man didn’t know his couscous from his Atieyeke. It’s like me coming not knowing the difference between a can of Milo and a can of Bournvita, at least know the products you deal with even if you don’t eat them.

I hear there is a Tante Marie in Cantonments, it may have faster service with waiters that actually know what they are serving you, but the one at Accra Mall, highly NOT recommended. Although it may have been a conspiracy by horse teeth guy to ensure that I don’t enjoy my food, I wouldn’t put it past him. I said a little toast to him, afterall, he had done a few good things in the office and I am not a complete bitch. He couldn’t look me in the eye, probably because of all the venom he has been spreading behind my back, but as they say, God dey, so I will say very little about him, he’s not even worth my time.

On the same note by a strange twist of faith, I went to the restaurant behind my office, the one where it takes 2 hours before you are served (and that’s even if they remember you are there). I went and ordered fried yam and chicken. There Madam had paid them a surprise visit the other morning only to be surprised herself that the workers had not arrived. They got the bollocking of their lives, she even sacked two of the girls (although she eventually took them back after a lot of begging and pleading). I was expecting after 30 minutes of waiting to go and give them a nudge, but I had resigned myself that it will take an hour. In 20 minutes I got a plate of steaming hot fried yam and 2 pieces of grilled chicken with some hot pepper on the side. Black folk, they know how to work when they want to but always want to be bitch slapped into doing it before they pull their finger out. It’s so sad it’s laughable.

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About efiasworld

The black Bridget Jones and an English woman in Ghana
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