Our team of 5 coaches is split across a pair of 3-bedroom apartments.  Think:  dorms.  I guess that’s apropos, given that we’re working on behalf of Stanford University.  It is a bit … interesting to have a group of 50- and 60-somethings in this sort of living situation.  To their credit, Stanford is working hard to improve things in this regard.  Parts of it do work quite well. In particular, we’ve gotten a bit creative with the food situation.  We have pooled our per diems and hired an excellent chef.  Dinners are wonderful, and we don’t have to do the dishes!  Most important, we get to “talk shop” every night for a couple of hours and help each other address the issues facing our cohort companies.  That is priceless.

Of course, someone has to do the shopping.  Each fortnight, the job of planning meals and shopping passes to a different coach.  My turn comes up Sunday, so I started the transition from the last coach.  Prices in retail shops are high and it’s difficult to stretch the cedis.  The open markets here are another story, however.  These are bustling affairs with all kinds of goods laid out – scrap metal to garlic, used shoes to snails.  I love these places.  When I’d hit a new town in Asia, I would always try to go to the market.  These are the best spots to get the feel of the city.  Vendors are always friendly as they call you over to look at their wares.  The bartering between locals is as enlightening as it is entertaining – although I never have a clue what they are saying.  Tony, our main driver, and our great chef Mark offered to help us in our shopping spree.  So two locals with two obronis in tow, we set out for Agbogbloshi Market to get some good deals on produce.

Foreigners in Ghana (particularly white people) are generally thought to be rich.  As is the case in most countries where bartering is prevalent, outlanders are generally charged higher prices.  You can negotiate to improve it, but the “floor” is always higher than for the locals.  Being very clever folks, we decided to let Mark do the negotiating.  Unfortunately, he had these clueless expats drafting behind, which made his job harder.  Once we figured this out, we tried to drift away and act nonchalant.  Too late.  He was “made,” and the word went out up and down the stalls.

Buying gari (cassava flour). Sala is the woman on the right, carrying our produce. It was only half full at this time. She…was…amazing

All shapes and sizes. Pineapples here are goooood!

Let’s put this in perspective.  We got a huge load of fruits of vegetables for a fraction of what one would pay at Whole Foods or even Costco.  In the thrill of negotiation, sometimes it’s easy to forget who you are and where you are.  Relatively speaking, we are very rich.  Wringing every last pesewa out of the deal might do wonders for your competitive instincts, but maybe it costs you in other ways.

Fish market at Tema next weekend.  Piles of dead fish on the shore.  Shorter shelf life, more aroma, better stealth.  This is gonna be good!

This gentleman wore a smock that said “Market Leader,” and took great pleasure in whacking all the tro-tros (minivan buses) with a switch and a nightstick. He wanted to make sure we were there to buy, not gawk. After we resolved it, he indicated that we should pay him (for something, I suppose). I gave him my change. He forcefully indicated that it wasn’t enough. I gave him more. Did I mention he had a nightstick?