In Kumasi last night, as I walked back to the delightful spartan and ambience-free Presbyterian Guesthouse - or "Presby" - after buying apple juice and cookies, passing a group of small children in their school clothes;
Small girl: What is your name? (standard)
Me: Alice (my "Ghanaian" name...it's more common in these parts than "Alison")
Girl: (points at belt) What is her name?
Me: What?
Girl: (points at belt) Her.
Me: Oh. My belt? Alice.
Girl: Your belt's name is Alice?
Me: Yes. Yes it is.
Girl: (points at my mouth) And what is your mouth?
Me: Alice.
Girl: (points at shoes) And what is called your shoes?
Me: Alice.
Girl: Your name is Alice. Your belt is Alice. Your mouth is Alice. Your shoes, Alice.
Me: That is correct.
Girl: Give me your cookies.
Me: No.
Girl walks away with the rest of her coterie of small girls, nose in the air, giggling all the while, leaving me standing, as usual, wondering what the hell just happened.
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