Not waving but drowning...

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart
gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Ever feel like you're just going through the motions? This Stevie Smith poem has always been one of my all-time favourites because it speaks to me on a different level. Sometimes I feel as though my life is one big show. "All the world's a stage" and all that. But lately I find myself wondering just how much longer this can all go on? I act like I'm fine because that's what I'm supposed to do. I'm over The Musician because I'm supposed to be by now. Do my masters in IR next because I'm supposed to. Looking to get married because I'm supposed to. You get the picture. 

From a distance it's easy to see the fun-loving girl who's perhaps a little too prone to moodswings, however I feel like I'm drowning, not waving. There seems to be no focus in my life at all and I'm pretty much clueless as to what I'm doing. I've been waiting for my one great passion to hit me for years and I'm pretty much fed up of waiting. Is there such thing as a "one great passion" anyway? I feel as though I'm interested in too many disparate things and this has led to some kind of fragmentation and a general lack of concentration. Since I loved books, I figured I'd look for a career involving books, hence my interest in publishing. But it gets pretty damn frustrating when people keep saying you need experience, yet nobody wants to be the one to give it to you. It may be completely irrational but I feel as though I have a ticking clock as a constant companion. Time to get it all together. Tick, tock, tick, tock. 

I honestly don't know what to do anymore. I feel as though I'm wasting the vestiges of my youth by being too wishy-washy in my outlook on life. What sucks is that I know I'm capable of great things. I just don't know how to get started. The one person I really want to talk to about this (my father) doesn't seem to be talking to me because of an issue of entirely my own doing. These are the things I do know:

 1. I want to do a masters because I love to learn. That's the only reason. However, I'm thinking of applying for IR purely out of duty. In my perfect world, I'd be doing the Race, Ethnicity and Postcolonial Studies MSc at the LSE.


2. I want my Daddy. Maybe I need to quit whining about this one and just sort it out....


3. At this point in time, I'll take any reasonably paid job and take it from there.


You know the feeling where you're surrounded by a million people yet feel so alone? Yours truly is slap bang in the middle of that. I feel as though I'm in the murky sea and I'm trying to avoid being dragged down by the undertow. I'm not waving but slowly drowning.

 

I'm baaaaaaaaaack!

Wow it's been a minute hasn't it? I don't even have a good excuse for this prolonged absence. I've just been blogging more over on Life... And Living It. Do you ever feel you have so much to write about but then end up writing nothing at all? That's been my dilemma. I've also found myself self-censoring on this blog, which is in direct opposition of the reason I started this blog to begin with so I'm going to do my level best to combat this.

So on the life front: I'm still looking for a job. It's just getting annoying now especially now that funds are almost non-existent. I'm slowly making friends and I've met a bunch of really cool people from the Ghana blogosphere. I've been dating here and there, which has been wonderful in my quest to erase The Musician from my mind. I'm still loving Ghana, which is surprising for somebody who so easily gets bored. I've also been contemplating postponing my Masters for another year but nothing's been decided yet. So that's it in a nutshell!

I'll blog about the dating escapades a little later. I've just realised that a lot of Ghanaian men are special.

So, as usual, here's some things I've been thinking about lately:

1. Tiger, Tiger, Tiger. This guy is an I.D.I.O.T. I'm not even talking about the cheating part. The cynic in me refuses to act like this is shocking. However, the man is too damn rich to get busted like that. Dude, you're a flippin billionaire how do you not have people to handle your shit for you? Especially if it's up to 10 women like they say. Shoot, if I was that rich, you'd never be able to trace anything back to me. Leaving voicemails? Are you dumb? Having them in your house? Not using protection with two of them? If you're gonna have side-chicks, at least make sure they can keep their mouths shut to the press. He deserves every ounce of this crap based on stupidity alone. SMDH. (But who knew boring, staid, Tiger was a freak like that? Lol)

2. Here in Ghana, if somebody calls you and you don't pick up, 9 out of 10 times they will keep calling you until you do. I had 8 missed calls in 15 minutes from an individual who just wanted to say "hi". Again, SMDH.

3. I used to love snails when I was a little girl in Kof-Town. I've now discovered they generally make me want to throw up....

4. Is the Ghanaian currency represented as GHC or GHS? They seem to be interchangeable and I don't understand why.

5. I've felt a distinct lack of Christmas spirit in Accra apart from a few sad Christmas lights here and there. However, my aunt and I decided to "Christmas-fy" our apartment yesterday and we didn't do too badly if I may say so myself!:

I love our little black Angel. I've decided to name her "Ama". She looks like an "Ama":

Currently listening to: Cool Temper- J. Martins

Music as the ultimate painkiller?

Songs are the most powerful memory triggers for me and the song "Ex" by little-known UK artist Dele just came on my iPod shuffle. It's slightly spooky because it's almost a year to the day I first heard this song and I will forever associate it with the Musician.

Turn the clock back one year and it's about 3 o'clock in the morning. I'm lying on my bed in floods of tears contemplating whether it'll be stupid to take myself to the hospital. I don't want to call any of my friends because I know they're all fast asleep by now. The toothache I've been ignoring for the last week is now making me feel like jumping out of my (1st floor) window. The trip to the emergency dentist I took earlier that day is looking pointless right about now. All the stupid woman did was tut about how she understood I must be in great pain but I should just take these antibiotics and a couple of ibuprofen and I should be okay in a couple of days. I can't remember the last time I cried because of physical pain and I've reached the end of my tether. I suddenly remember that the guy I met on the bus only 3 weeks before, and who I've been consequently "talking" to, is working late today so maybe he'll still be awake. He lives in the flat next to mine and without any regard for him thinking I'm weird,  I call him and he picks up before the 3rd ring. All my efforts to mask the fact that I've been crying are in vain as I break down as soon as he asks me "what's wrong?" I tell him I haven't slept for the last two days because the pain keeps me awake. I've taken so many painkillers that I'm afraid I might need to get my stomach pumped.

A few minutes later, with me still sobbing on the phone, he tells me to come downstairs because he's standing outside my flat. He gives me a hug and a packet of industrial-strength painkillers he has left over from an operation he had last year. At this point, I'm beyond caring about what I'm ingesting into my body. I'm at the stage where all I want to do is not feel. Blissfully, I manage to sleep for 3 hours before the pain announces itself again. At the break of dawn, I get a call from him telling me to get dressed because he's driving me to A&E. As we make our way to King's College Hospital, he's trying to cheer me up by playing music he knows I like. He lies through his teeth that my face isn't that swollen but I saw him visibly flinch when I first entered his car. Still, I appreciate the sentiment.

Two hours later, I've been given some codeine and other unpronounceable painkillers while I wait so I no longer feel like slamming my hand in a door in order for that pain to distract me from the pain in my tooth. He, of the notoriously short attention span, is getting fidgety but still he waits with me. He gives me his iPod to listen to and says I should listen to this song because the guy is Nigerian and it's rare to find male R&B singers nowadays with some bass in their voice. As the music flows from the earphones, everything suddenly seems just that little bit better.



I have no idea why this song came up on my shuffle today but it made me realise just how easy it is for one terrible act to wipe out dozens of goods. I usually love this song but tonight, it's just succeeded in making me feel sad.




(I ended up having 4 teeth taken out under anaesthetic and stitches put in my mouth, so I wasn't playing about the pain...)

Of myths and legends

There's a junction in the "37" area of Accra where I heard the most god-awful unholy sound a couple of days ago. I was chilling in the car, craning my neck to catch the faintest whiff of a breeze when I heard a sound like cats being drowned mixed with that horrible "crying" sound London foxes make at night. My head snapped back so quick and when I made the mistake of looking up, I saw horrible, black, winged creatures swooping in and out of some large trees. Bats creep me the hell out. I find them as truly disgusting creatures. A lot of people know that I'm generally not a fan of things that fly but when you add teeth, claws, and fur to winged creatures, you have a living embodiment of my worst nightmare.

While hastily rolling up my window, the woman driving me told me that there are also a lot of bats in Kwahu and according to legend, a Kwahu chief became sick one day and had to be transported to the military hospital in "37". The bats accompanied him on his journey to Accra where he unfortunately died. However, since the bats never saw him leave, still they remain waiting to accompany the chief back to Kwahu. Apparently everything has been done in an attempt to get these bats to leave but alas, to no avail.

I happily believed this until I tried to google some more info on this supposed "fact". I saw that fellow bloggers Abena and Holli had also blogged on this topic substituting the Kwahu chief with chiefs from other regions! Nevertheless, it's a good myth and one I thought I'd share.

Now a few  things I've been ruminating about in the last few days:

1. Why is "37" called "37"? I must have asked about 7 people and nobody's been able to give me an answer. Not even a guess. So can anybody help satisfy my curious mind?

2. I think I've seen enough penises this week to last a lifetime. Seriously the amount of men I've seen flapping in the wind as they relieve their bladders beggars belief. Not everybody will do you the favour of facing a wall even. Oh no. "Check me out!" they seem to scream as you're visually assaulted by tubes of flesh

3. Judging by the strange consistency it seems to be turning, I don't think you're supposed to put milk into Hausa koko....

Currently listening to: Sweet thing- Rufus and Chaka Khan

Random musings

1. How does one react to unwanted advances from the opposite sex? Seriously this one has been taxing me for the last few days. When I was younger (around 13/14) my friends and I would always do the really cruel "um I don't think so" with the requisite disgusted look spiel. This all changed one summer afternoon outside Peckham library (under the umbrella- you know that was the spot!) when I messed with the wrong guy. I was chilling with my freshly gelled-down hair and baubles when a tall Jamaican dude asks me for my number in a rather forceful and disrespectful manner. Out came the faux-ghetto London slang: "Do I know you doe? Why do you think you can stalk me doe? Do you know how old I am? Watch I don't get my man and his bredren dem to come box you!"  Everyone knows Peckham boys are no joke and this one was no exception. I was quick to change my tune when old boy pulls out a knife! I felt like I had been touched by holy ghost fire and within seconds I was scrambling for a pen to write down whatever number he wanted! Although that experience is funny to me now, it made me re-evaluate the way I responded to men trying to approach me. I went far into the opposite direction and tried to be as nice as I possibly could when I said "no". However, this would often lead to stalkers who refused to take no for an answer. Say what you like about London men but they are persistent! I soon adopted the truthful approach as in "sure you can have my number but I probably won't pick up when you call." This has been working for me but I think it sometimes comes across as mean when that isn't my intention. So again back to the question- how does one react to unwanted advances from the opposite sex?

2. This week, when I've been asked what my name is, at least 3 people have asked me what my "other" name is. Initially I was like "huh"? They would then elaborate that they wished to know what my English name was. Am I missing something here? Is is mandatory for a Ghanaian to have an English name? I'm not English so I don't understand why it's so strange not to have an English name. I'm not throwing any shade at those Ghanaians who do have English names but I'm proud of my name. So there!

3. I went to the hairdresser a few days ago and as the lady was washing my hair, I heard her telling a colleague to look at my ears. (She clearly didn't realise I understood twi and I wasn't inclined to correct her lol!) I have quite a lot of piercings in my ears and now I'm wondering whether piercings in Ghana are a big deal. I wanted to tell her that I've even done well by removing 3 of my 10 piercings.

I have 4 of the ones pictured above, and no, I'm not a punk! Lol!

4. Is it just me or do Ghanaians have no regard for personal space? I've been touched more times than I care to remember this week by complete strangers. For somebody who is the antithesis of a "touchy-feely" person, this is going to take some getting used to....


(I have to give some love to my Liverpool boys. 2-0 to the Liverpool! You'll never walk alone indeed! Sorry to all the Man. U fans out there. Or not! OK, I'm done now lol)


Also, my friend Nsoromma joined the personal blogging brigade so show her some love over at "Baring Testament"

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Currently listening to: The Seed (2.0)- Cody Chesnutt ft. The Roots