I am an American Consumer

Its Saturday afternoon, and I am about as far from African Happy as I can be. I am still happy, mind you, but in a way only an American can be, happy in a way an African might only dream of, happy in a way I know you can relate to.

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Twenty Hours of Travel

Bridget Jones is on the telle, doing her thing for the second time, this time with Dutch subtitles. I’m in 31C, laptop out doing my thing, writing my website while hurtling through time and space at some ungodly speed. Now over the Atlantic, soon to be in Washington DC, with Saharan sand still staining my shirt.

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Sunday = Labadi Pleasure Beach

I always felt that my Sunday Boring Sunday in Belfast was the extreme in Sunday shop closings. There, nothing is open on Sunday except church. Well Accra now ties with Belfast in its ability to roll up even the sidewalks on the seventh day.

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Yep, Lost Yet Again

Where am I now? Where are we going? And why doesn’t he stop and ask for directions? I know this could be said to me on any number of occasions when I’m driving, but right now I’m asking it of my taxi driver and the response isn’t heartening. He’s clueless.

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African Home Delivery

Its Accra, Ghana, and you need sponges, or pans, or some other domestic item. You could spend half the day at the market, looking for just the right item, or you could be much more efficient, and let it come to you. Here, like the rest of Africa in general, the market comes to you as easily as you go to it.

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