Accra, 2013, 6 a.m.: The scrawny Rooster strangles his voice and my sleep with his fuss. Mercy’s broom has already begun switching away last night’s dreams. I hear my uncle scurrying out the screen door headed for the waakye stall across the street on the corner of Palace Street, North Kaneshie—his first breakfast beckons. Waayke (pronounced WAH-chay). The ludicrously extravagant breakfast that is sold on street corners in a plastic bag or wrapped in a plantain leaf puts any UK street food and even some brunch menus to shame.