Thine germs runneth over

I recently attended an outdooring ceremony at which we were served a very chilled and spicy locally manufactured ginger drink. One could taste the cloves, rosemary, cinnamon, raspberry flavour and the ginger. It was so nice to have been refreshed with such a potation on a warm Saturday afternoon.

“One fine future, I would like to have some of your ginger drink in my fridge”, I said to the host, after handing over my enveloped cash donation to him. He seemed delighted to know I liked what his wife, the new mother, had prepared for their guests. The recipe was her innovation, and he was proud of that.

“Antie Ablah, you don’t have any problem. We shall send you some one of these days. She does it in different flavours. In fact, in addition to her kenkey business, she also sells this too”, he said.

My statement, more like a pseudo request, was a joke. Little did I know the new father had taken my appeal personal. I returned from the hair-dressing salon on Sunday evening to find twenty 0.5 litre bottles full of the ginger drink on our dining table. Yes, the drink had been poured into recycled water bottles. “Obodai, where from this?” I asked, surprised.

“This is what happens when you attend functions and go begging for take-away. Konotey sent it. He said Azey sent him to bring it to you”, he responded harshly, and walked off to the bedroom from where he had come out to unlock the main door to let me in.

He had been in a bad mood a major part of the day so his body language didn’t amaze me at all. Naa Atswei had accidentally deleted from his laptop, a document he had worked on and was to submit to his Director at work on Monday. All efforts to retrieve the document had failed.

Konotey is the nephew of the new father, Azey. They live at Amrahia, near Dodowa. Inspecting the bottles, I shouted to Obodai, “Oh so did you give him any money for transport?”  There was no response. “Shieee … but I was only joking that day? I wasn’t expecting Azey to take me serious? How could he have sent this teenager all the way to deliver these? I am sure they were heavy in the box which held them”.

I yelled these rhetorical questions to Obodai but he said nothing. Then I knew the lost document had really held a good portion of his emotions. To the extent that he who complains about my spanking Naa too much, had smacked her to sleep, should tell you he was disappointed with her act.

I opened one bottle. The sweet smell of vanilla and ginger greeted me. Feeling grateful, I lifted a clean glass from beneath the lace covering which hangs above the breakfast beverages on the dining table, poured out about 200 mls full of the drink and zealously lifted it to my lips.

As soon as the liquid touched my mouth, my mind went straight to what happened earlier during the previous week at the Conference Center. I placed the glass down immediately. Saliva filled my mouth. Alas, the catalyzing deterrent had triumphed.

And what had happened at the Conference Center last week?  I had as a participant, attended a conference where bottles of water, in versions of 0.5 mls, had been served to every attendee. I made four critical observations whilst there: The first had to do with the participant who sat directly opposite me. He seemed to be on a water diet.

Before the Opening Session of the Programme, which lasted an hour and a half was over, he had with the assistance of the ushers, who kept distributing water to him on request, finished three of those bottles. With each lifting to his lip, he would push into the bottle his folded tongue, and sip the water through the fold. It wasn’t an interesting observation at all.

The second had to do with another participant who sat on my table during lunch. Then again, we were served bottles of water to help wash down the meal. He would push the bottle’s mouth into his mouth and then drink. I was wondering why he wouldn’t just place the tip of the bottle on his lower lip to drink. But of course, that was his comfortable style of intake.

The third had to do with a female participant. When we broke for the concurrent discussions, she had carried her water which had been served her at the main hall, into the discussion room, and sipped it in bits.  She was at the time chewing gum whilst discussions were going on. When her jaws felt tired, what did she do? She spat out her gum into a tissue which she picked from her laptop bag, gulped down the rest of the water in her bottle, and pushed the roll of gummy tissue into the empty bottle.  Hmm!

The final observation was when the meeting ended in the evening: A middle-aged man carrying a large black polythene bag went round the conference halls, collecting empty water bottles. I asked him what those were for. “Madam, I am going to give them to my wife. She sells the drink called Bisap”.

“Wow, I said to him, do you know who drank from those bottles? Do you know cholera is in season?  Do you know how those bottles have been handled? How can you put drinks in these bottles to serve the public?” Standing there speechless initially, he scratched his head and said, “madam, we wash them oo.”

“How do you wash them? How can you ensure their cleanliness?” I asked. “Oh, we have a large basin. When I get home for instance, we will open all the bottles, put them in the pan which we fill up with soapy water, wash and rinse them well for use”.

I could have thrown up at his explanation, considering my observation of some users early on. What the man meant was that the “clean” and “unclean” were all laundered in one same cleansing agent. Oh dear!

Reminiscing this encounter would just not permit me on Sunday evening to take in the drink which had been sent with love. I felt so bad that I should not be able to patronise that which I had inadvertently requested for at the outdooring ceremony. How many, the likes of the observed participants, had used the bottles which held the ginger drink? 

With much reluctance, I packed them all carefully into my fridge and phoned the sender to thank him and his wife for their kindness. I however couldn’t answer to the sender’s question, “we hope you have drank some and like it”. I only giggled. Hmm. I have since managed to distribute all twenty bottles to interested persons. Oh these laundered bottles!

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