We passed through our first police check point.

And it was anti-climactic.

Last night we went for a Ghanaian diner with Erin and her Swedish boyfriend Thomas. Erin has already lived in Ghana for two years, so she was taking us around a little bit. She took us to a great restaurant that was out in the northeast of the city that specialized in Ghanaian dishes.

Thomas and I ordered red-red, which turned out to be what Wendy and I had eaten the night before at Jessica’s, except that tonight I had it with goat. That’s the last time I try to eat goat.

Wendy had palava, which was very good. Erin ordered the fu-fu, a dish that is supposed to be an acquired taste, but we took to it right away. It is a sort of starchy paste made from pounded yams or plantain and casava. You scoop it up with your fingers and dip it into soup or stew. Very very good.

Our starter was Kelli-Welli (or kele-wele? Not sure of that spelling). It’s a fried plantain dish with a spicy seasoning. That was first rate, we could eat it every day, and I might try to.

After dinner we went to this nightclub called Champs. It’s a sports bar and looked just like any sports bar you’d see in Canada, except twice as full. It was very overwhelming and we left immediately. We sat outside, had a drink and talked about the football and Ghana’s performance at the World Cup, although Thomas was the only one of us who really knew anything about it. He blamed the Black Stars’ loss to Brazil on their Yugoslav coach, who we’re told has since been fired.

We were all pretty tired so Erin negotiated our cab ride for us and we said good-bye, while I said no to a guy who held open the door for me while begging for food.

It was on our way home that we met the police check. We pulled up along side some traffic and stopped at a metal barricade. Beside it was a single cop with a kalishnikov hanging around his neck. The cabbie turned on his interior light as we stopped and the cop leaned over and peered at us in a very hostile way. He then nodded and let us through.

We asked the driver what that was all about. Where they looking for someone specific?

“No, just security.”

Somehow we didn’t feel any safer.

We got dropped off at Frankie’s, which is the hotel and restaurant that hardly anyone but obruni go to, but is a famous landmark in the city. Everyone knows Frankie’s, so you can always take a cab there. And from there we walked home.

Nothing to it.

Just another night in Accra.