Things I'm not proud of

Do you ever get one of those moments when you remember something you once did and just think "I can't believe I did that!"? Well i just had one of those moments.

It was a few years ago and I'd just moved back from the ATL to the LDN. I was happily minding my own business on the bus after an afternoon of retail therapy (shopping was all I did that summer) when I felt somebody staring at me. I turned to see an insanely hot, tall guy smiling at me. I quickly put my screwface on (it's automatic) and stared out of the window. I got off at my stop and coincidentally (or not...) so did the guy. He does the whole "you look familiar, have we met before?" spiel and I roll my eyes and keep it moving. We're just making small talk in the middle of the street and I notice with increasing horror that this man has a mean lisp. This was compounded by the fact that his name was bloody SYLVESTER! He couldn't even escape the "s"s in his own blimming name. I immediately felt ashamed at myself for being so incredibly superficial and the guilt compelled me to accept when he asked to take my number so we could do dinner sometime. 

The next day, I left my phone at home while I took a short walk with my friend Friday's Afro. When he got back to the house I had 17 missed calls from the guy in the space of fifteen minutes! I called him back and the man had the cheek to be all "Why are you ignoring my calls?" on me. Mscheeeeew! To make matters worse, even though I was well aware that his name was Sylvester I kept calling him "Sebastian" for some reason. The more we spoke, the more his suspect English was exposed. I've never seen hotness die so fast in my life. It also didn't help that Friday's Afro insisted on yelling "Thlyyyyy" at me whenever I was on the phone with him.

Anyway, I fulfilled my part of the deal and allowed this man to take me to dinner, which ended up being at some uber-swanky restaurant in Blackfriars. After washing down my succulent, crisp-skinned belly of pork with some excellent white wine I realised I couldn't stand to spend another moment in his company. His lisp defeated me. I rarely listened to anything he had to say as his lisp was sooooo distracting. On the rare instances I did, his English dealt the other blow. I just couldn't take it anymore you hear?! He was all "where do you want to go now?" and I just blurted out "home!" I told him I was sorry but I could tell he liked me more than I liked him and we should do ourselves a favour and just stay "friends" for now. I've never seen a guy look so crushed. This all went down before the bill (for 200 smackers) arrived those few minutes spent waiting were awkward to say the least. He refused to say another word to me and only told me to call him when I got home as I could always change my mind.

Needless to say, I deleted his number on the way home and wept for the level of my superficiality. However, by the time I got home, I was over it already. I still cringe when I think of poor Sly but let's hope he's found somebody far more deserving....

My Mother

I have a strange relationship with my mother. Up until this evening, I hadn't spoken to her in three months. I love my mother dearly but we've always had problems seeing eye to eye.  A large part of this is due to the fact that I didn't really start building a relationship with her until I was seven or so, when I first came to London. I remember spending time with my father when I was still in Koforidua vividly but I remember nothing about my mother, save for a tall, slim woman who would whisk off to the bank every morning. She seemed unapproachable, and in some ways she still does.

These three months in which we hadn't spoken was the longest yet. I usually speak to her as least once a week but we had a silly argument and I just couldn't be bothered anymore. If today wasn't Mothers' Day, I wonder how long I would have held off calling her. She didn't call me either.... When I spoke to her today, she told me she loved me. I was so surprised, then I felt like crying. She's not a very open person and I've always taken all my joys/ problems to my Dad, knowing that he'll tell her anything she needs to know.

I've always felt like a bit of a disappointment to her. I'm not skinny  and I know she blames me for my younger sister's weight problems too. Something about setting a "bad example" for her to follow. I don't have an MBA (which she inexplicably keeps pushing this English and Linguistics graduate to do) nor do I have a rich, successful husband (yet!). She gets along far better with her sons than she does with her daughters and she has a whole host of "substitute daughters" to make her happy. These "substitute daughters" feel no way in talking to her about anything under the sun- something I could only dream of doing.

Despite all of these things, I have an incredible amount of respect for my mother. She is both hard-working and graceful in the challenging role of a pastor's wife. My father wouldn't be a fraction of the man he is without her by his side for all of these years. She has shown me what a good wife should be. She's not shy and submissive yet she she doesn't emasculate her husband in any way, shape, or form. She may not be the affectionate type (neither am I), but she shows her love for her children in myriad ways. I thank God for her life and wish her a truly wonderful Mother's Day.

Picture post

Everybody who knows me knows of my penchant for taking random pictures of people and things. Living in London enabled me to hone my stealth photography skills in order to avoid getting my ass kicked. However, this is not "Caught Slippin'" (does anybody remember that facebook group? Jokes for daaaaaays!) so here are just a few of the random pics I've taken in the past few
months here:
The Cape Coast Mysterious Dwarfs F.C.


I snapped this whilst stuck in some stupid traffic on the Accra-Tema motorway. Who knew Cape Coast had a football team called the "Mysterious Dwarfs" [sic]? Shouldn't they be dwarves? What's so mysterious about them? This is still the best football club name I've heard yet though.

Taxi hazards


So I hailed a taxi from my house to Dzorwulu one sunny afternoon and tired of the wind effing up my hair because of the open window, I asked the taxi driver to please raise up the window for me. He directed me to "touch the green wires together". He then happily told me to touch the EXPOSED orange wires together to lower the window again! I was actually dumbfounded. Only in Ghana indeed....

"Oh Edem!"


I have no idea who Edem is, or what he did, but it was clearly serious enough to warrant the offended party complaining about his crimes all over Accra. I thought this was hilarious. Not unlike our next picture...

Hilarious Services (Osu)


Spotted this gem on Oxford St. in Osu. Mate, you offer clerical and photography services. What the hell is 'hilarious" about that?

"My Lord is my Shepped"


Yep. "Shepped". What made this worse was that I took this picture at the Accra Polo Club as it was reversing into the white picket fence of the supporters enclosure. Clearly the Lord was slipping on his shepherding skills that evening....

"My Brain"


A couple of months ago, I was trying to stress to my grade 8 students the importance of acknowledging their sources before they turned in their projects. It's never too early to learn about plagiarism right? This was the bibliography page of one of my students. Is this a reflection on me or her? Either way, let's bow our heads in prayer for the children of the future....

That damn Ms. Harris....

I finally got round to watching Ciara's new video for "Ride". I'm actually speechless. I wanted to hate it but damn if this woman ain't WERKING it! I'm off to take notes....

Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons

I've noticed myself doing a funny thing since I moved to Ghana- I try to avoid telling people where I live. Weird huh? Maybe you think me so weird after hearing me out:

So I live in some extremely plush accommodation in an extremely posh area of Accra. "Nothing wrong with that" you say. Indeed there isn't. I love where I live and I actually think I'd have already run back to London if I didn't live where I live. I haven't really experienced the chronic water shortage that seems to have befallen Accra and her neighbouring cities lately. Lights off problems also go largely unnoticed and there's really no logistical way armed-robbers could make it into here. Buuuuuuuut

1. This is not my yard; it belongs to a family friend. Like I have $500,000 plus to drop on an appartment in Accra.

2. When some people find out where I live, I get accused of being a "dadaba" (spoilt Daddy's girl) and they mysteriously stop offering to pay for/ split things.... I kept where I lived from my co-workers for as long as possible but I noticed that as soon as word got out, things like taking it in turns to buy everybody snacks mysteriously fell more frequently on me. My mama didn't raise no fool. If you ain't buying, then we ALL ain't eating.

3. Some people ask "what is it like living there" and that's ALL they want to talk about. Seriously.

4. Taxi drivers use this as yet another excuse to bump me. I've now resorted to NEVER telling them outright where I'm going. I'll vaguely mutter something about going "somewhere around The African Regent Hotel", throw the agreed fee at them and wait until we arrive at said hotel before directing them to the opposite direction. Hey it's been working so far!

One of the things that most irritates me about Accra is the sheer number of posers in this city. I see people who pretend to be "bigger" than they are constantly and it's a fear of being perceived to be one of them that makes me reluctant to share where I live with people.

Bitch I'm broke! I have two sets of student loans to pay off and my credit rating must be down the toilet by now since I haven't been in the UK to pay O2's phone bills nor Egg's credit card bills. Why on earth should I pretend otherwise? I'd love to have a Sugar Daddy/ Santa Claus to act as my Fairy Godmother but until then, Last Born Child is my inspiration. People like myself is the reason I never make assumptions about anybody's financial status. I may be broke right now but I sure as hell don't advertise it. In the same vein, don't jealous the chick with the freshest Malaysian weave, the flyest Bvlgari shades, the latest Bottega Veneta handbag and pushing the latest whip. You don't know where or how she got that ish. I try to be myself as much as I can so that's why I either won't tell you where I live, or I'll quickly append a "but it's not my house" when you comment on how nice it is. Funny thing is, I've noticed that money attracts money. Seriously. When people perceive you to be in a certain "class" you find yourself meeting more and more of them. Kind of makes sense now why the posers bother so much....

So do you make assumptions about how much money you think people have and how/ why?

Random thoughts:

1. Why did I just see Wanlov the Kubolor wandering through the streets of Dzorwulu in torrential rain?

2. Why is the size 18/20 Sankofa flirting with a fine-ass personal trainer. The irony doesn't escape me either. Maybe he'll help me get my bikini bod fine-tuned....


3. I've had a craving for apapransa for the last two weeks. I'm too lazy and inept to attempt to make some. Where can I buy some?

I'll leave you with this vintage eargasm courtesy of Maxwell. He's always a good choice before bedtime.