How to be an Alien in Ghana - The Kotoka Rules

James Whitaker had read all the important books before coming to Ghana.

He had read "How to be an Alien in England." He had read "How to survive heat." He had watched three YouTube videos titled "10 SHOCKING things about Ghana."

He was ready.

Then the plane doors opened at Kotoka International Airport at 2:15pm and Ghana hit him like a full trotro.

The heat did not say hello. The heat shook his hand, took his suitcase, and said, "Welcome home, boss."

James was 27, from Manchester. Pale, polite, with a backpack that had a small Union Jack and a water bottle that was already empty. In England, he was a man who queued. In Ghana, he was about to learn that queuing is a suggestion, not a law.

"Akwaaba!" shouted a woman at the arrival hall with a smile so wide it had its own weather. "You are welcome!"

"Thank you very much, that's very kind, sorry, thank you," James said, doing the English thing where you say sorry and thank you in the same sentence.

The woman laughed. "You are already saying sorry. You will be fine here."

Rule No. 1 in Ghana: Never Say You Are Fine When You Are Not Fine, Because Nobody Will Believe You.

In England, James had been taught the most important rule of conversation: Englishman: "How are you?" Answer: "Fine, thanks. How are you?" Even if your house is burning, you say "Fine, thanks."

He tried it in Accra.

Outside the airport, a taxi driver, a man with a cap that said "GOD IS GOOD" and muscles that said "I lift bags for fun," looked at James sweating in his jeans and jacket.

"Boss, how for do?" the driver asked.

James smiled. "Fine, thanks. How are you?"

The driver looked at his jacket, his red face, his leaking water bottle. He looked back at James.

"Boss, you are not fine. You are boiling like indomie. Remove that jacket or you will die here. We don't want police case."

In Ghana, people tell you the truth. Quickly. With love. That was the first lesson.

He removed the jacket.

Rule No. 2: In England You Talk About Weather. In Ghana Weather Talks About You.

In England, James was a professional weather talker. "Bit chilly today, isn't it?" "Yes, might rain." "Lovely, that."

He tried it with the taxi driver. "Hot today, isn't it?" James said, proud of his small talk.

The driver turned on the AC that made a noise like a dying goat and said, "My brother, every day is hot. If you talk about hot every day, you will finish all your words before December. In Ghana we don't talk about weather. We talk about food. Have you eaten?"

James had not.

"Then we don't talk weather. We go and eat."

And that is how James learned the second most important difference. In England, "How are you?" is not a question. In Ghana, "Have you eaten?" IS a question, and it has serious consequences if the answer is no.

The taxi, a Toyota Corolla that had seen three presidents, four coups, and at least one flood, entered the Accra traffic. James had seen traffic in London. This was not traffic. This was a national meeting where every car, trotro, okada, and goat had been invited.

A trotro screamed past with "NO WEAPON FASHIONED AGAINST ME SHALL PROSPER" on the back and "GOD'S TIME IS THE BEST" on the front. It was carrying 22 people, 3 goats, 4 speakers, and a preacher with a megaphone.

James clutched his seatbelt. There was no seatbelt.

"Don't worry," the driver said, laughing. "In Ghana, we have three brakes. Leg brake, hand brake, and Jesus brake. The last one is the strongest."

Rule No. 3: Tea Is Not Important. Jollof Is Important.

In George Mikes' book about England, there was a whole chapter about tea. How English people will offer you tea when you are sad, happy, born, dying, or when the house is on fire.

James loved tea.

He asked, "Where can I get a nice cup of tea?"

The driver was silent for a full ten seconds. Then he said, "Tea? You came from England to drink hot leaf water in 34 degrees? Boss, you are still an alien. Let me remove your alien."

He stopped near a blue kiosk with a woman frying something that smelled like heaven and bad decisions at the same time.

"Madam, give us two," he said.

Madam gave them two wraps of waakye in leaves, with fish that looked at James, with shito that was black like midnight and dangerous like midnight, and with an egg that had seen life.

James ate. He sweated. He ate again. His nose ran. His eyes watered. His soul left his body and came back with a Ghanaian passport.

"This... this is not tea," James whispered.

"No," said the driver. "This is food. Tea is for when you are sick. Jollof and waakye is for when you are alive."

James finished everything, including the leaf. The woman selling waakye shouted, "You try! You are no more oyiboe! You are small Ghana boy!"

James did not know what oyiboe meant, but he felt proud. In England, he had spent 27 years trying to be invisible. In Ghana, after 45 minutes and one waakye, a market woman had already given him a new nationality.

He was no longer James from Manchester. He was "Small Ghana Boy."

The taxi moved again. Past Makola, past Kaneshie, past a billboard that said "AKWAABA TO GHANA - ENJOY YOUR STAY" with a picture of a smiling girl holding a bowl of jollof.

James took out his little notebook where he had written "Rules of Ghana" before coming.

He crossed out Rule 1: "Don't drink tap water." He wrote new Rule 1: "If someone asks 'How for do?' - don't say 'Fine, thanks.' Say 'I dey, by His grace, small small we are managing but we thank God, have you eaten?'"

He crossed out Rule 2: "Bargain politely." He wrote new Rule 2: "If you want to survive, learn to shout 'Trotro! Circle! Last stop!' even if you don't know where Circle is."

He looked at the city - loud, bright, moving, everybody talking, everybody selling, everybody helping everybody to cross the road even when nobody asked for help.

In England, James had learned how to be an alien by being polite and not bothering anyone.

In Ghana, he was learning how to STOP being an alien by bothering everyone, eating everything, sweating, laughing, and saying "sorry" less.

The taxi stopped in front of a small hostel with a sign: "GOD'S WILL HOSTEL - NO SMOKING, NO NOISE, NO ALIEN."

Too late, James thought. The alien has already landed. And he just ate waakye with his hands.

He paid the driver, who refused tip and said, "Use it to buy water. You will need it. Akwaaba, Small Ghana Boy."

James stood in the Accra sun, with no jacket, with shito on his shirt, with a new name, and he understood for the first time what George Mikes meant.

To be an alien is not about your passport. It is about not knowing that when someone says "Have you eaten?" they actually want to feed you.

He had not known. Now he knew.

Chapter 1 ended with James opening his hostel room, finding a fan that had only one speed - prayer - and a note on the bed from the owner: "If fan no work, open window. If window no work, go outside. Outside always dey work."

He laughed. For the first time since Kotoka, he did not say "Fine, thanks."

He said, "I dey. I dey small."

And outside, Ghana said, "Good. Now you are learning."