Eat Pray Love Nearly Killed Me

Eat Pray Love nearly killed me. For those of you who don’t know, Eat Pray Love is a book in which Elizabeth Gilbert travels to Italy, India, and Bali. Along the way she discovers meaning in her life and marries Javier Bardem (I think).

I was unemployed and heartbroken at the time, so I was ready to try it. Unfortunately, as an unemployed teacher, I didn’t have the Elizabeth Gilbert money to travel. So, I managed to find a program by which I could chaperone kids on planes in exchange for free flights. In one summer I was able to travel to Tanzania, Costa Rica, and Ghana for free.

I was about halfway through my trip in Ghana when I realized I wasn’t following the EPL plan right. All I did was eat. It was easy to do. In Ghana groundnut paste is in almost everything, and I LOVE peanuts; furthermore, you can eat everything with your hand including fufu (cooked mashed cassava) which is fun. Mangos were everywhere, and they were ripe and delicious, putting their American counterparts to shame.

But how would I cover the Love and the Pray parts of the plan? I decided to travel to Ada Foah, the most romantic and mystical location Ghana. It was a tiny fishing village and had a long spit of sand that split the Volta River from the Atlantic Ocean. There I could rent a tiny sand-floored shack with an Canadian flag on the door for ten bucks a night and sleep to the sound of waves all around me. It was gorgeous. But I was the only person there.

As a firm believer in, if you build it, they will come, I tried not to lose faith. And sure enough, late that night two Frenchmen stumbled into camp. They met all my criteria for Love: they were approximately my age and they were men.

In the morning I found out they weren’t exactly my type when they had rum for breakfast. I was grumbling about how hungry I was when one said: “We can go to the market if you can drive a motorcycle? Can you?”

“Of course,” I said indignantly, “but where will we get a motorcycle?”

“Yahweh will provide.”

Yahweh? Like the old testament God? I thought. Maybe these guys are crazy. Or maybe I am one step closer to achieving the Pray part of the plan.

I went inside my shack to change from a skirt to bike-ready pants. When I came out, an old school motorcycle stood outside, engine still clicking. I hadn’t heard it come up.

One of the Frenchman was going to come with me while the other would stay behind. I sat on the bike, he wrapped his arms around me. At this point I should disclose I had no idea how to ride a motorcycle. But I had driven stick-shift cars before. Surely, it couldn’t be too different?

On my first attempt I flipped the bike, dumping the Frenchman into the sand. Luckily, he was so drunk he flopped off gently. I had him stand to the side while I struggled with the clutch and gears and eventually I figured it out. It was difficult driving on the sand: the wheels kept skidding, but eventually we made it to the market.

At the market I was in my element. Food is what I know how to do. I was stocking up on mangos and groundnuts when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me. Do you know how to make e-space cake?”

“What?”

“The cake that has the ganja inside of it?”

“Oh, you mean pot brownies?”

The Frenchman shook his head like an eager little boy.

“Of course!”

I bought eggs, oil, sugar, cocoa, and more groundnut paste (it’s good in everything) and then turned to the Frenchman for the last ingredient.

“Where are we going to get the pot? And how will I cook it?”

“Don’t worry. Yahweh will provide.”

We got back to the camp to find a Priest (wearing a collar and everything) squatting over a fire. He had a big iron skillet that was empty.

“This is Father Thomas. He will help you to cook the cake. I’m going to take a nap but wake me up if you need anything.”

Father Thomas grinned at me. I knelt. At this point I should disclose that I had never made pot brownies before in my life. But I had baked a lot. I put oil into the pan. It seemed like a good start.

When I was wondering what to do next, a beautiful shirtless man with long dreads seemed to float in. “Hello,” he said in a deep voice, “I am Yahweh.” With that declaration he dropped two huge fistfuls of marijuana into the skillet.

I was starstruck and somewhat in love. I was also confused about what to do with all the green in the pan. I figured it was vegetable matter, so it wouldn’t hurt to give it a good sauté, to make it crispy on both sides. So that’s what I did. I then mixed up the batter right there in the pan with all the greens. I put a lid on top and built a little fire on top of that so that they would cook evenly.

Father Thomas eye me closely the whole time. He said, “I would like to marry you, but you are a slut.”

The unexpected insult hit me like a rubber band. “Well you are a jerk.”

We glared at each other. The brownies filled the air with their sweet scent. I was already hungry and even more stressed out due to Father Thomas. The Frenchmen were still asleep. I decided to sneak a half piece of brownie. It was so good: crispy on the edges and gooey in the middle, a little herby and crunchy due to all the pot.

Here is the problem with eating half pieces of things: if you eat eighteen half-brownies you will have had nine whole brownies. By the time the French guys showed up, half the pan was gone. 

“You can’t eat that much ganja! You are going to die, Lauren.”

My heart had already accelerated to a mouse-like pace. “Oh no!” I cried. I walked back to my shack and locked the door, determined to stay alone until it all passed.

Here is the bad news: I failed at the Eat Pray Love plan: I hid from the Frenchman, the priest, and Yahweh all night and snuck out of the village in the morning. Here is the good news: I didn’t die.