I went into the Town of Berekum today. My visit was mandatory. My electricity meter had started to beep. At least that’s what the caretaker’s daughter, had knocked repeatedly on my fragile external glass door, to tell me. She had to call to me several times Saturday afternoon, to appraise me of that important fact. Because I was taking a nap. In Ghana, electricity bills are not paid per see. Rather, meters are recharged with credits. When the credits are exhausted you run out of electrical power. No refrigerator, no television, no available power to charge your phone, and no air conditioning. No one, who can afford to do otherwise, wants to suffer such inconveniences. Accordingly, I went to Berekum on Sunday. To purchase enough credits. To prevent me from even thinking about my power supply, for the next three months. I took my customary French bath, because there was no running water. A well established occurrence at this time of the year. Since the end of September, there has barely been any rain. Our reservoirs only work when there are frequent showers. What a contrast this lifestyle is, to living in Wisconsin. One of the American States situated on Lake Michigan. Water lock offs are almost unheard of, in that part of the world. While here in Ghana they are a constant. I have two large barrels on my back porch that I keep filled with clean water. For washing my kitchen ware, doing my laundry, keeping myself clean, and mopping my floors. I replenish these barrels myself when there is running water in my apartment. When the showers are absent however, my neighbor’s son refills them. In exchange for some financial encouragement. I spent one hundred and twenty Cedis (120.00 GHS). Approximately US$20.00, to recharge my plastic card, for twelve weeks. Which I would later insert into my electrical meter to recharge it, and I really loved this. A far cry indeed from the US$350.00 monthly utility bill. That I encountered in Brown Deer, Wisconsin. After completing that transaction. I decided to have a drink of coconut water. At my request the vendor skillfully chopped the coconut, removing the external husk, cutting open the nut, and exposing the rich and succulent fluid to my parched and thirsty lips. I quickly swallowed the nutritious drink. Then waited patiently as the coconut was chopped into four pieces giving me access to the flesh. Like everyone else, I sat down on a nearby bench and consumed every morsel of that meal, using my bare, unwashed hands, without a second thought. Until every piece of that coconut was gone. On the opposite side of the road, directly in front of me were three multi storied chicken coops. For some strange reason there was no chorus of chucks, nor were there any unpleasant odours wafting into my nostrils. Just as well I thought to myself. Interestingly though these coops were multi-storied. Two coops on the left had three levels. The larger on on my right had four floors. A fine example I mused to myself, of Ghanaian economies of scale.
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