Today I scraped the bottom of my last bottle of shito. Only a Ghanaian would understand the ensuing feelings of loss and anxiety. It's as if the world has tilted on its axis, leaving me disoriented and lets face it, a little afraid. Every Ghanaian swears by his favourite shito chef. I swear by Auntie U. She makes her hot shito sauce with the basic ingredients of ginger, shrimps and dried pepper then throws in extra helpings of love and care like no one else can. I'm not ashamed to say I hoard Auntie U's shito, fending off eager friends who ask if I've received any new supplies from Ghana, with a straight faced "No." I don't feel too bad about that, they probably do the same.
Now as I wait for a fresh consignment, I imagine this is how the Cypriots must be feeling as they too wait to be bailed out and restored to equilibrium. Except they don't make shito in Germany. It's only made in Ghana.
Now as I wait for a fresh consignment, I imagine this is how the Cypriots must be feeling as they too wait to be bailed out and restored to equilibrium. Except they don't make shito in Germany. It's only made in Ghana.
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