Kumasi Zoo

I would like to end “Kumasi” by talking fondly about its captive wild animals, but there’s no story in that. There are a few free-shitting Ostriches, slumbering Lions and Hyenas, pitiable Hawks and Vultures, etc. No Kumasianos (did you think I’d miss bringing it up?) flock to the zoo near Kejetia. The real story was this sign at the entrance:



LOL!!!!! So even in the “Close Season” the law refuses to protect the poor Akrantie, also known as Cane Rat or Grass Cutter. Bye bye, Majestic Kumasi! Next time, we might go to see the Asantehene.

Kiravi, Kilavi and Kay Vee

The cars are ranged with order in a spacious parking lot. In the chilly night air, three men flank the pinched entrance. We’re admitted for GHC 7 apiece. The anteroom yawns into three more rooms. The room on the right hides behind a closed door. Directly ahead is a vacant bar. On the right is the door to the club. Inside, the DJ’s box, the bar and black settees besiege the static dance floor. Pillars oddly screen the sitting area. The music is Dancehall (called Ragga) and Hiplife. I think they love “Simple”. The DJ drops crowd favourites over and over again. The collective fragrance is not sweet. Masculine BO chokes the air. Coarse tones are whispered everywhere in non-English. The bar stands mostly unemployed. Crashing glass sounds keep the time every few minutes. What there is a lot of, is sloppy, inter-dance snogging. It’s clustered thick as seeds. It’s time overdue to go at 1.30 a.m.

Colourful Bantama Evenings

In the heart of Kumasi lies Ghana’s bistro capital. Bantama hosts a daily night carnival. After dusk, shops close, shop fronts clear, and seats and tables are set. Bars and pubs open. Drink and meat freely flow. Men and women pour into the streets in brightly coloured clothes.

We espied a guy in a custard-coloured suit and hat, and another all in scarlet. Many a young man streaks a medium, white towel out of his back pocket, almost scything the street. Many a woman spikes school-rules, short, natural hair. They leave their inflated bosoms fairly out to treat, and swim from sidewalk to sidewalk in miniskirts or hugging jeans. The more mature males don hats from far-flung cultures.

We were touring for the famous British Pub. Legend has all the city capos haunting it at night. We cruised through many connecting streets. We did not find the pub. I asked a kebab boy. For “British Pub” he heard “Spar”. Between horror and suppressed snicker, I did not resist the urge to ask if he had Cane-Rat kebab.

A cabbie stopped to help. He acquired a fatuous frown, and said he did not know the “Parrrrrrr”. We sullenly settled for the “Soul Bar”. It did not have half the soul its name promised. It is a hatchery for fat, blood-sucking mozzies, and a flower/sewer garden.

Bantama is a street. Bantama is a scene. Bantama is a curious crowd. Bantama is musical. Bantama is the heartbeat of Kumasi at night. The name “Bantama” suffers from the ugliness of English spelling. I gather it should properly be spelt something like Baantoma.

Four Tastes of Kumasi

The McKeown Restaurant is tucked in one of the buildings on the vast Pentecostal complex at Asokwa. It dishes up some ‘wicked’ soups with the king of meats – Akrantie, also known as Cane Rat, also known as Grass Cutter, also known as Cutting Grass. It affects to have no beer to issue, but it displays and offers airlinesque wine.

Vienna City lies at Ahodwo, on the boulevard that also threads past Kiravi Night Club (look out for its own post). It serves ‘continental’ food in a nicotine ambience. Its many Lebanese patrons are permitted to break the dress code, by flapping among the pool tables and hookers in their flip-flops. And how do you explain having to pay to enter the club, and then having to pay to buy food and drinks? We were told it had a legendary pizza.

Cadillac, we did not have too much time to explore. As we came down from the cars, the live band elected to play ancient Sunday music...on a Saturday night! So we fled the ‘crime’ scene.

Abusua serves more ‘wicked’ Ghanaian recipes with more Cane Rat. It appears that Cutting-Grass-rearing has caught on in Kumasi, so all the bush meat has lost it bushy, smoky sense with a metal pellet or two lodged in the meat when the tasty rodent was shot. Abusua had run out of beer on a Saturday morning! But the food was goooooooooooooood, including the Gari Fortor and chevon, and even the tad-too-dry Tilapia.

The Kumasi I Saw

Kiz and I took a rugged road trip through the airy Aburi Mountains and not-so-novel New Juabeng, through the king-size Kwahu Highlands and Asante-Akyem to Kumasi (the second city). I may employ next week reliving the experience through my posts. But, to summarise it all here, the Kumasi I saw was weather-cool, traffic-light, better-roads, bigger-average-booty compared to Accra. Plus, there was chow aplenty. But Kumasi has probably more streetwalkers, more BO in polished places, less or no English, and precious little unleaded fuel (or knowledge about it). But nothing I have seen compares to the nighttime Bantama streets, nothing!

Two by Two

From my collection 'Amour Propre'

Two by two they slept that night
When the sky threw down her tears
And swathed the heart in a prickly cold
Chest to chest; arms around body
Their spirits tamed the unfriendly chill
Two by two they walked that night
When the wind pierced through their clothes
And formed death’s layer under the skin
Shivers begged for heat to touch
The frost stood tall and fiercer still
Two by two they kept the night
But one stayed lone to write a sad song.

Crool Black

The lack of light cuts clean, slim lines on the wearer’s frame. It recites racy elegance and calm confidence. It speaks of no need for silly frills to feel cool! But it also denotes death, buried sadness and tears. It is morbid, funereal. It is cruel. But when you put on black, questions fly at you: what is the tragedy? So, in Ghana, Black is crool (cruel + cool).