Alfred and me were busy rushing from one house call to the next when I
received a call by a woman named Eunice. She owned a bar out in Nima
and claimed to have a whole lot of 45s. The area didn't have any street
names but we were assured that everybody in the neighborhood knew her
place which was simply called Eunice's Drinking Spot. Nima is one
of Accra’s poorest but also one of the city’s liveliest districts and
due to the cheap rent many migrants from Liberia, Togo and Nigeria
had settled down in this maze of irregular streets, paths and
alleyways. After some asking around we were pointed to a wooden shack
with a rusty tin roof where we found Eunice and her husband as they were
busy getting ready for the afternoon crowd. The sun shone through the
ceiling's countless holes, projecting spots of light onto a mosaic floor
of broken tiles. Roofing laths had been nailed onto the front of the
small building, arranged in a diagonal pattern and widely spaced apart
to allow for air circulation. This was not a bar where you would order a
cocktail. An open cooler held a few bottles of beer and a smashed block
of ice but Eunice's Drinking Spot specialized in Akpeteshie, Ghana’s
often privately distilled, national liquor made either from sugar cane
or, more traditionally and just like Benin's Sodabi, from the fermented
sap of the oil palm. Eunice sold the generally much better tasting and
less hangover-prone palm based stuff and I couldn't resist to order a
first round. Alfred winced as he finished his Akpeteshie in one shot but
I was surprised by it's perfectly sippable quality, far removed from
the stuff I had bought a few days earlier at Makola Market. When I asked
Eunice about the distillery she didn’t feel like sharing her particular
source but I was told to investigate around the town of Obomeng in
Ghana’s Eastern region.
That said and ready to get down to business, Eunice handed me a duffel
bag stuffed with 45s. On weekend nights about 25 years earlier one of
her customers had often brought these records to the bar alongside his
portable player to barter music against shots. Before long though, the
human jukebox had accumulated a considerable tab and continued to drink
much more than what Eunice was willing to pay for the provided
entertainment. Eventually the contract was canceled, the records and
turntable were impounded and the DJ never returned to pay the ransom.
The player had been easy to sell but nobody had ever been willing to pay
Eunice's asking price for the records. I felt a pang of guilt to take
advantage of my peer's misfortune but why not liberate his 45s and put
them back to good use?https://www.mixcloud.com/voodoofunk/eunices-drinking-spot/
