Henry lives in Dzorwulu, a neighbourhood where many Nigerians and Ivorians live in walled residences with private security guards. Henry is my driver for this excursion. Although I had studied the map carefully before leaving we have no idea how to find Choco Pain. We spiral through the confusing maze of dirt roads, stopping frequently to ask if anyone knows Osu Badu Street. Of course, no one does. But someone finally knows Choco Pain and her face lights up with memories of the delicious baked goods.
“I’ve seen you before,” she exclaims. “I was here eleven years ago,” I respond.
Seeing a cake decorated with Jack-o-lanterns and bats he asks me what Hallowe’en is.
We have raided the mess hall for a late evening snack. We smear sweetened peanut butter on processed white bread and feel like we’ve never tasted anything so good.
We are up at dawn, gazing out across the lake, eating instant oatmeal out of mugs, feeling like breakfast has never been better.