Andy's Birthday Dinner

Andy’s birthday was yesterday. The monkeys don’t stop for birthdays, so to work we went – unfortunately the monkeys did not get the memo to put on their party hats, except for Iron Man and Villan of course who had us giggling all afternoon, a gong show as always. In the evening we invited Charles, Robert, Joyce and Dianna (Joyce’s sister) over for a birthday dinner. Our friend’s idea of a birthday celebration clashed marvelously with how a Canadian might conduct themselves at a birthday dinner – the night was an absolute riot and a complete comedy. Andy and I were in hysterics the entire time, laughing so hard we could barely breathe –probably laughing more at them than with them, but that was ok because I think that they were equally laughing at us. 

Charles arrived spot on time, and then immediately left again to round up the rest of the gang. Before dinner he threw a bucket of water at Andy (‘bathed her’) – a Ghanaian tradition of washing away the year past in preparation for the year ahead. Andy was not allowed to change and was forced to sit soaking wet in her chair for the entire party. We brought out the food that we had made, which was just some simple Canadian finger food for everyone to try. The evening went as follows: Robert declared that white people food was absolutely terrible –  for example, that ‘salad on bread’ (bruschetta) was stupid, that jam was like flem from a person’s nose (and gave and example of what he meant) – so how could we serve such a thing, and how could a Ghanian possibly become full on such light food and none of them would be able to sleep that night; Charles sang or insisted that we sing happy birthday or at least parts of the song probably 7 or 8 times; Robert poured more water on Andy; Charles pulled the cork from an already opened bottle of wine so aggressively (I think under the impression that it might ‘pop’ like champagne because he then made the popping noise himself when the bottle didn’t) that he spilt it all over himself and the table; the four of them talking on and on in Twi, and when I demanded a translation they told me they were talking about farting; Robert pretended to eat all of the food on the plate, nearly shoving it into his mouth with his hands, only to stop pretending and throw (and I mean throw) it back on the plate for the rest of us; serving spoons were used to shovel food into mouths, and then tossed back into the communal bowl of food; Robert didn’t believe that I had also made dessert and that indeed there was more food to be had– so he stole the key to my room and told me I would sleep on the porch if there wasn’t more food; Robert demanding more drink because earlier in the day we negotiated with him that we would give him wine at the party if he agreed not to give Andy her traditional birthday beating; and Dianna and Joyce said nothing at all, not even happy birthday. After dessert – which was some form of apple crisp made in a frying pan, which Robert admitted was pretty good and gave me back my key – they all up and left in a jiffy leaving a complete mess of spilt food and drinks, half eaten this and that everywhere. The party lasted an entire 40 minutes, start to finish.