The Internet Cafe

By Stephanie Fox -
My roommate from Calgary told me that she imagined that when I am writing my emails to her I am sitting in my blue dress with a big hat sitting on the oldest computer known to man in a coffee shop with sun beaming in the windows. Slightly more glamourous than my usual Tuesday routine, I have to say.  Here, for all of you, is how you can envision me typing away.


I sit in the internet cafe sometime between 9-10:30 am – I am 6 hours ahead of Calgary and 4 hours ahead of Toronto. We head to town first thing in the morning – it is about a 30 minute drive along a mostly unpaved road - and the internet cafe is our first stop. It is one room with a few windows and the door that faces out onto the busy dusty road of Nkoranza. The door is always open and you can hear the chaos of the street. There are three women who run the internet cafe - as far as I can tell -  and their friends, babies and husbands (boyfriends?) come and go. Although it is called the internet cafe, there is no cafe of any sorts, just computers. The computers are not actually the oldest computers known to man, but they aren’t the newest either. Some of the keyboards on the other hand might be original prototypes, but I’ve noticed they have some newer ones these days too.  The computers are each squished onto small desks that are just big enough to fit one screen and one keyboard; the chairs seem fit for school children, although I don’t mind too much, and they always screech really loudly when they slide against the floor. There seems to be stuff everywhere – extra computer parts, cords, papers, people, babies. They also have a scanner, printer and two or three large photocopiers of which only one works.  There is one ceiling fan that creates a much-needed small breeze.  I usually only have an hour or so to actually spend writing and replying to emails, which means I frantically read and type and read and type. I often end up laughing out loud as I read your emails, (sometimes really hard) and I always have to resist the urge of telling everyone in the internet cafe the news I have received- from who is in the NHL playoffs to what goofy thing my sisters are up to this week.  One highlight of the internet cafe is that they have a clean bathroom, complete with a toilet, a bucket of water for flushing, computer paper for toilet paper, and a door that locks – I appreciate this immensely every week. By the end of the hour I am exhausted, and then we head to the market.

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