I leave the house every morning at 6am.
Down the street at the junction I try to get one of the rare seats in a taxi and go to Zongo Junction to get a Trotro to stand in the traffic for the next 1-2 hours.
A big truck packed with used first world goods stands at the roadside and is being unloaded by several men.
Fridges, freezers, chairs, sun shades, ironing boards, toys, bicycles, TVs, sewing machines, vacuum cleaners, windows and other goods have just arrived on the Ghanaian market.
People from the neighborhood are coming to see what there is to sell, others leave while complaining about the high prices.
The woman selling the goods is greeting me with a friendly
” Guten Morgen, wie gehts?”
More and more I feel that either I became more obviously German, or Ghanaians became way better in guessing where I am from.
Deep inside myself I am hoping for the latter.
Since I am the only Obruni around, its pretty easy to recognize me. So we get into this conversation on how she thinks it so is funny, that I eat at the local place nearly every evening.
Fried cheese is the new thing to have with your Jollof. And its good and totally worth the 1 Cedi a piece.
Apparently she was worried that I might get sick from eating too spicy food.
The guy on the trailer could have been a dockworker in Hamburg, judging by his look.