The little one

As promised, here is my beautiful new nephew, a week old today:

And what a beautiful baby he is. With Mr. T's fingers, arms and legs, mine and Mr. T's nose and everything else must be from his mama. Can't wait to meet him in person. Also can't help but wonder what individual he'll turn out to be. Only time will tell...

Touring Radovan

Most of the Swedish bloggers have for weeks left their readers behind, going on holiday, enjoying fun in the sun without their laptops. It would be easy to think I was doing the same, as I seem to be blogging less frequently. No such luck for me, unfortunately. Just the same old work, work, work. The most frustrating thing is I have so much to write about and never the time. For now I just have to share this story.

A Serbian tour company is offering a tour of Radovan Karadzic's regular joints and hang-outs. The tour is deliciously named 'Pop Art Radovan'!

To me it just seems so American to make money out of anything, commercialise every event. There's Sex & the City tours in New York, remember the 'I shot J.R.' t-shirts during Dallas' hey day and of course the Gorbachev masks that were sold all over the place.

And how exquisite that a country of the former Eastern Block has adopted this far Western sense of capitalism.

I think we can safely say the Iron Curtain has definitely come down.

What you don't learn in guidebooks.

There are certain things about Ghanaian custom that you don't learn until you live here, or in some cases (mine and my friends'), until someone explains to you what your actions mean.

I realised this several weeks ago after being told that a certain acquaintance was my boyfriend. The person who told me, mentioned it as a fact, not a rumour and was surprised to hear it wasn't true. I was in complete shock, wondering how this 'fact' had come about, what Virgo would think of hearing such a 'fact', then realising, on top of all the untruths in the 'fact', the acquaintance was a married man with children!

Suddenly it stopped being an innocent mistake (I know Virgo's secure enough to handle such rumours) and instead I was the mistress of a husband and father. Nice. My crime? Strolling through Shoprite with the acquaintance a good eight months earlier.

Similarly, a friend who shared her meal with a guy she just met at a lunch with a group of friends, was understood by the whole group, including the man who ate half her food (scooped on to his own plate), as signalling that they were actually sleeping together! I can only imagine the guy wondering over his luck, not having to chat up this beautiful lady and yet she was ready to go all the way with him.

Sometimes it has lesser consequences, but is equally puzzling until you realise what has happened. For example, the time my mum and went to a lunch said hello as we entered the house, then both felt we were given the cold shoulder by the other guests (women, of course) until I realised and whispered in Swedish to my mum: "We didn't go round from left to right and greet everyone as we entered the room". A few smiles and introductions to the other guests individually, and suddenly we were part of the crowd.

Right now, I can only imagine who else I am a mistress to, after all, I too have shared meals with friends (the Poet, as recently as last Thursday), sat in my male friends' cars (yes, that too is a crime) and walked through shops with other male friends.

So for the sake of your reputations, please, share your experiences so we can all learn and walk through Accra as citizens of good standing! ;)

Elections 2008

Slowly slowly it's beginning to brew. The fever is rising at a steady pace. Since the end of last year we've heard talks of the elections, with all the parties selecting their flag-bearers. Every now and then a political statement will be made, or a former leader speaks out.

For the past few months more and more posters have been showing up, on lampposts, billboards and walls, asking us to vote for the 'better man for Ghana' or for the 'best man for Ghana'. But now I feel we're getting even closer to d-day. Every other hawker on the street is selling flags for us to display or choice of party in varying combinations of white, red, green, blue and black.

I can't wait. I look forward to, for the first time ever, experiencing the hype around elections. I can imagine the whole country reaching boiling point in discussions over who will be a better leader for Ghana. My parents experienced the 2000 elections and came back full of excitement, telling us all about the goings on during the campaign. At the time the country was ready for change, longing for a fresh wind to come and take over. Now, it's hard to tell. Will we get a new fresh start? Is that on offer, at all, by any of the parties? What will happen to our dear Ghana after the elections, will the country drastically change or remain the same?

What do we want?

I know what I want. Do you?

Weekend, WAPI, work

The joy of my new nephew was quickly forgotten as I was saddled with work, work, work. Actually spent the whole weekend working, only finished midday today. Although I'm tired, it feels good to have made some significant progress.

Also, it didn't hurt that a small celebration dinner was held yesterday at Le Must in Cantonments to congratulate ourselves on our hard work.

Only negative thing (apart from not resting, sleeping or going out) is that I missed the WAPI event again! Oh well, just have to hope something else is coming up soon, and wish for third time lucky!

A baby!

Too much excitement in the last 36 hours. Since yesterday midday, I've been following the pre-labour pains, labour and birth of Mr. T's baby via telephone. Finally, today around 12 I got the news, a baby boy has been born! Unfortunately that means that my baby name is gone, as Mr. T already informed me he was stealing it, but hey, who cares? Can't wait to see the little one, now I just feel a bit sad that I'm not there to celebrate and share this moment with the rest of the family.

It's so amazing to imagine that Mr. T, the baby of the family is now a father himself! And from what my mum tells me, the little boy is the cutest thing, with long fingers and toes, just like Mr. T (whose toes are as long as my fingers!).

Now, I think it's time for another update on my new nephew's first moments in life.

Rain!

Finally some rain. I feel happy every time those wonderful drops of water fall on us. Well, almost every time. At times, when it's pouring down, I begin to feel a bit worried about the damage it may cause. After all, I have been there before...

Last year half of the wall collapsed the day before I was travelling to Sweden. Bad timing to say the least. So what else to do than to postpone the trip by a week, call in the masons and dig out my holiday budget to pay for the new wall (yes, we had forgotten to get home insurance, sometimes both my mum and I forget that I am living here on a permanent basis now). Luckily, the day before my postponed flight, the new wall was up and ready.

What amazes me most about the rain here though, is how afraid people are of it. MJ and I have discussed this on a rainy day in Gothenburg. We came to the conclusion that all people from countries with heavy rain completely freak out when there's rainfall. MJ's father who is from former Yugoslavia, wouldn't dare leave the house without an umbrella even if there's just a sprinkling of water drops. MJ's stories from people running around 'escaping' the rain in Belgrade are so similar to what I see in Ghana, and surely, England (possibly the rainiest place in the world, ;)) has more umbrellas per capita than any other country.

A few weeks ago, as I was about to walk the 20 metres to my car from an office in heavy rain (without an umbrella), a man said "Ey, madam, are you sure you can make it?" as if I were making my way through lions and tigers. Yesterday, a meeting was almost delayed as the guys who were coming to sign an agreement didn't have an umbrella. As I watched them sit in their car for a good 10 minutes before daring the rain under the protection of the car's dusters, I couldn't help but yell "It's only water!!".

This behaviour is so foreign to someone who loves nothing more than walking around Kungssten in the lovely summer rain, enjoying the smell of freshness brought out by the rain and only covering my head with a hoodie, when the heaviest raindrops come falling down.

Boob Juice 2

I have been reprimanded, and with all right. A woman in the know has given her feedback on breastfeeding, which I feel lay it all out, so I'll post part of it here (hope you don't mind!):

"...Picture this.....most newborns feed every 2-3 hours, NIGHT AND DAY round the clock, if you're lucky it is 3 hours.....1-2 hours is more likely, so imagine you're trying to run your regular errands and stay ahead of the curve in terms of the 1-2 hour feeding interval....and remember in between you have to handle diaper changes and potentially a gassy baby so in other words in between the 2 hour cycles, you must run errands, change poop, cuddle and pacify baby and be ready on the dot when that little one starts groping for the nipple AGAIN.....and then the cycle starts over PLUS YOU HAVE TO MAINTAIN SOME SENSE OF SANITY..."

The rest of the conversation follows in the comments. For now, all I can say is, as much as I whine about not getting enough sleep and all the noise that disturbs me when I'm trying to sleep, what will I do when there's a screaming, pooping, hungry baby around???

Still, that's still some year(s) away from now...

Boob Juice...

…as a friend calls it, was on my mind on Sunday. A trip to the Accra Mall at 7p.m. brought up these thoughts. The mall was full of people (on a Sunday evening, what’s up with that?) so as I was walking my eyes wandered all over the place, somehow trying to determine why people were crowding at the mall. As I scoured the crowds, my eyes landed on a woman breastfeeding on a bench by the Game entrance.

Now I am all for breastfeeding in public. After all, it is a completely natural thing. Nobody should blame a woman for ‘whipping them out’ when her hungry child screams for food. And as for those who compare it to the sexual assault of a flasher, well that says more about their sick minds than the mothers nurturing their children.

And yet I couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of the woman on the bench facing the crowds exiting Game with her breasts hanging bare and a baby sucking on to the end of one nipple. What happened to the cute and practical breastfeeding tops? Or the budget option of a top over a tank top for easy access with a bit of concealment? Or just a little scarf or simply some discretion (even by a hand or arm), to conceal the baby’s head and give the whole feeding session some privacy?

It’s not the first time. Actually, most of the people I have seen breastfeeding in Ghana have done it in very unattractive ways, using their own hands to pull, tug and squeeze at their breasts, as if they were water sachets. And seeing that unappetising scene of the woman pulling her tank top down to her waist, exposing both drooping breasts, in that second, it felt more like an assault on my eyes, albeit not a sexual one, but an assault nonetheless and for a second, I forgot the ‘beautiful’ natural act she was performing.

Then again, I may not pay any thought to the attractiveness of it all, if it is my baby screaming for food.

T G I F!

I am about to leave the office, but will (unfortunately) continue working for a bit. So glad it's the end of the week! Later on I should be meeting Ruby at Twist, but who knows, any time we actually plan to meet up, something always gets in the way...

This weekend I am really looking forward to lots of sleep. For the past week there's been some clouding and twitching over my right eye. I hope it's caused by lack of sleep, don't want to lose my perfect vision! Remember having something similar to this last year during exam times.

Apart from that, there's M2B's baby-shower to look forward to, if all goes well...Seems factors are working against Dee, the Poetress and moi, but hopefully, somehow, we'll make it happen. And maybe tomorrow I'll try and sneak in a trip to Tema Fishing Harbour to get some more prawns. Got two kilos last week for GHc18, but will try to haggle a bit more this time. After the peel came off and they were boiled, there was not much left of the those kilos! Will try to get hold of some butterfish as well. The Poetress and I devoured Line Fish sushi on Wednesday at Monsoon and I am in shock that I haven't discovered this fish yet. Could it be my Ghana substitute for salmon?

Have a good weekend!

Kokodede!

An early evening a few days ago, and I'm browsing through my magazines on the bed when I hear "rrr'bit". As I look up I see a frog, (yes, a frog, groda, kokodede), hopping across the room! I have never been afraid of frogs, never felt anything towards them, except for pure hatred for the loud noise they make, but seeing one in a bedroom, and in light of the...unkind things I may have written about them before, I felt that this frog was here for revenge. As I screamed and stood up on the bed, I watched the little monster hop to safety in a corner under a chair.

In true fifties-dependent-feeble-housewife style, with no regard to my usual feminist, independent streak, I called Virgo and demanded he interrupt his evening with SQB to come and rescue me from my misery. For the longest 8 minutes ever, I sat, heart racing, fingers shaking as I tried to continue reading the magazine whilst checking whether the frog had moved, every two seconds. When Virgo finally arrived, he got the daughter of the family in the boys-quarters to remove the frog by placing it on a newspaper and covering it with a broom before releasing it into the garden. I swear I saw her smile a bit at me as she saw my terrified face.

As soon as the frog was safely outside again, I could laugh at my ridiculous hysteria. If I hadn't panicked, I could have called the girl instead of making Virgo interrupt his evening. And yet, even though I see the funny side of it all now, my heart jumps every time something flickers in the corner of my eye. After all, you never know when Kermit will strike again.

Sleep patterns

There are certain people I feel very jealous of. Those who can sleep. Through anything, with all kinds of worries. I am the complete opposite. Last night, I went to bed and battled with my thoughts for a good hour before I slept, even though I was exhausted. I woke up a few hours later and went to the bathroom. Then I couldn't help but wonder how the bathroom had been cleaned. Was the same sponge used to clean the toilet and the sink, and if yes, was it rinsed in between? After a while I managed to fall asleep.

I woke up an hour or so later feeling cold. As I reached to turn off the AC I spilled out my glass of water and had to jump out of bed to rescue my camera, phone, books and precious magazines on the night stand. When I got back to bed, I couldn't remember on which side I had been sleeping. If I don't lie the same way as when I woke up, it'll take longer to sleep. As I tested from side to side, of course I got warm and decided to turn on the AC, so I had to look for the remote which had disappeared when I spilled the water. Got back to bed and slept another hour or so, dreaming wildly about the most mundane things (including telling Virgo to buy V-power (petrol) as the car was running low in the dream).

Woke up 4.30 and turned off the AC. Then I heard the roosters and somebody sweeping. I began deliberating whether the humming of the AC was better than the sound of the roosters and decided, yes it was. Turned on the AC but was a bit cold so searched around in the bed for my socks and somehow realised I had been bitten by mosquitos 4 times in the night. Wondered where from and how they had come and shared my bed with me and created such huge bites all over.

Must have finally fallen asleep around 5.50, only to be woken up just after 6 to get ready for the gym. By the way, this is in no way an unusual night for me, is it any wonder I am always tired???

Funnily enough, I'm feeling quite peachy today anyway.

Asa, Magazines, Chocolates and Obama

Have been meaning to recommend an artist who has a great sound, but I always forget. Today however I saw she had a facebook tribute group so before I forget, please listen to Asa's Jailer! It is such a beautiful song, but actually, listen to the whole album. I am so glad that someone is staying away from the hiplife, r 'n' b, hip hop sound and finding their own way in music.

Aside from that, I just got a phone call that the 'goods' (i.e. magazines and chocolates from London) that the middle-Dove sent to me with her cousin will be waiting for me in Cantonments in the next 45 mins! Can't wait! I'll say this about Ghana, it really humbles you, I don't think I have ever been as excited about receiving such simple things until I moved here.

Well, will have to rush to finish off work at the office so that I can pick up my stuff, meet a collaborator for the signing of a supplementary agreement, then head to Rhapsody's for an Obama party tonight at 7p.m. Finally, I'll be able to make it to one of those (if anything, I'm sure it's a great networking opportunity) and I can't help but wonder if Obama knows how much campaigning is going on in our little country on the other side of the world.

Life and Death

Peter Ala Adjetey is dead. Don't worry, those of you who don't know, this is not another young friend, he was 76, but it is still sad. Apart from being someone to look up to in law, I have never heard anyone say a bad word about him, which is quite unusual for a person who's been in the public eye for decades.

On a personal note, he was a very strong figure in Virgo's life, somewhat of a father/uncle figure so Virgo is distraught. For me it is slightly unsettling. I know, as the saying goes, we get 70 years (three scores and ten) and anything after that is a bonus, but when you have uncles and aunties who are above that age, it is scary to know that at anytime they could pass away, naturally. Then again, I think we've been spoilt in my family. The average age of death lies around 86 and we'd all be shocked if my great-aunt passed away, despite the fact that she is 93 years old. Actually, I ought to make time to visit her, all the way in South Odorkor, before it's too late and I regret never making time.

Life and death is and will always be such a beautiful, scary mystery.

Brangelina = thieves

So, it seems Brad and Angelina finally had their fifth and sixth babies. I would have been happy for them, had they not stolen one of my own baby names (yes, I know I'm crazy, but I have certain names picked out for the day I have children). It's bad enough that Mr. T has informed me he'll use that name depending on the sex of the baby (which is due any day now!), but now that one of the world's most famous couples has gone and used it, it will become as common as John, Eric/Erik, Anna and Maria are around the world, or in Ghana: Joyce, Mercy, Gladys, Richard or...Wisdom.

I can't help but resent them a little bit. I would say it's my own fault for waiting so(?) long to have children for my names not to be considered copies of others, but would it have been better to pull a Juno or Jaime Lynn? Think not. I guess if I want to stay unique, I'll have to close my eyes, pick up a few Scrabble letters, shake them around, throw them on the floor and see if they make a word. Then again, giving a child such a unique name could surely amount to child abuse.

As you can see I am rambling. From bitterness over the name-stealing, hunger and tiredness. I think it's time to leave work, slightly early but it must be done. Last night, I hardly slept and had the craziest dreams, which I'll let Posekyere analyse superbly another time, for now, I'll just inform you that it involved me and a talking dog/baby.

Have a good evening!

A special one bites the dust

Getting too distracted at work by things like this: the world's oldest blogger has died. A woman of 108! It is so cool that she'd been blogging at that age, kind of reminds me of the man at Sharpnet (yes I finally found a link although I can't say I'm impressed).

Now, all I have to do is find some time after work to check out her blog. Her main blog doesn't seem to be working...

Hair: part 2

Turning at Nyaniba Estates Junction and onto the small back roads of Labone takes you to the salon. The salon is basically a porch and a cement-floored backyard sheltered by metal roofing sheets. Under this roof sit approximately 30 women, braiding the hair of 20-30 customers at a time. When you get there, you ask for Auntie Alice, tell her what style you want done, then go to the hair shop and purchase your choice of extensions.

Then you wait. And wait and wait and wait.

If you’re “lucky” you may get there between 8.30 and 10.30 when a woman leads morning devotion, getting staff and customers to sing along to the hymns and gospel songs she has chosen. At times, it creates a cosy, solemn atmosphere, other times I almost cringe as her voice screeches over the too high notes. What’s less impressive is when she shoves her bucket in your face, asking for a reward for her singing. I guess even praying isn’t free in today’s world. Before she leaves she prays over Auntie Alice, with the rest of us hearing stage whispers of several “in the name of Jeeeizuz” repeated rapidly.

Staff, customers and groundnut/boiled egg/snack sellers weave their way through the rows of chairs with customers, while trying not to trample the hens (and sometimes dogs) running around, their scrawny legs caught up in excess hair extensions.

Before my turn of braiding comes (waiting time is sometimes an hour), I manage to catch women leaving with a variety of styles, innovative, traditional, daring, colourful and some, plain wacky.

Auntie Alice salon: a true Ghanaian experience that I doubt you’ll find in many guidebooks.

Hair: part 1

New hairdo:
>More about that later...

Presents

Virgo gave me the task of finding a gift for SQB’s birthday. Yes, I used ‘task’ purposely. In any other country I’d love to spend a few hours window shopping for presents, especially for a man, it’s so fascinating to look at men’s gadgets, clothes and shoes. My brothers have often been the happy recipients of my shopping for men. But here it really is a task. I didn’t even know what shops to consider or what items to look at. Watches? Where to go? Interesting books and DVDs? Where to go? Bear in mind I’m on a Ghanaian salary as well, that kind of restricts me from buying what’s available from the boutiques on Oxford Street. For the past two days, that was on my mind. Yesterday morning at the gym it kept popping up: what to buy and when to buy it?!

Then around midday, clarity settled. Where do I buy all my gifts for men in Ghana? From Mawuli’s shop of course! So between meetings, I drove through North Ridge, which is my usual route anyway and stopped at MKOGH (site seems to be out of use/under construction) to pick up this shirt.

Let’s hope the birthday boy likes it!

Today's life lesson

Today's lesson from Rich dad Poor dad is really a life lesson rather than a get rich quick lesson:
"...in the real world, it's not the smart that get ahead but the bold".

True, no?

This immigrant

I must confess something. I am currently an illegal immigrant. As of Monday my residence permit expired. I have known of this for, oh well, a year, but couldn’t be bothered to go through the tedious procedure of visiting Ghana Immigration Service. Virgo threatens to report me to the authorities and have me deported.

I, being an optimist, choose to see the positive side of that: would I really say no to a free trip to Sweden in July? Think not. Mm, the money I’d save on my ticket could go to city hopping across Europe – London, Paris, Brussels to see J and Maastricht to visit N, back to Gothenburg for a one day trip to Copenhagen, a visit to K in Getinge and maybe a weekend in Stockholm for a change. Then, when I feel like coming back to Ghana, I could marry Virgo for my residency, or become a passport wife to any Ghanaian who’d want to marry an EU-passport holder.

Hm…maybe I’ll just turn myself in…

Dreams...

Two nights ago I had the strangest dream. Two market women drove into my car. As I was berating them for their reckless driving, one of the women said: “Ah, but you what’s wrong with you? Why are you upset, your car isn’t even nice. Look at the back.” At this I got so upset, felt so hurt, that I began bashing her with my handbag. Fortunately, I was woken up at this point, who knows how long the beating would’ve lasted otherwise. (In the dream I felt so genuinely hurt, I was furious, my mind clouded with rage).

What does this mean? Am I so in love with my old Volvo? Or am I just crazy? Which of the two would be better?

Go nuts!

If you've ever bought Kofi Brokeman (roasted plantain with groundnuts) and asked for peeled nuts, you'll have noticed that the woman selling it will quickly put the nuts in a piece of paper, twist it round a bit, then swish, swish, then hand you perfectly peeled nuts.

Well today for some reason, I craved groundnuts. This is strange as I usually hate peanuts and groundnuts, guess I need the nutrients in them. I bought 10 pesewas worth ($0.10 or 0.65 SEK) and took it to the house. In the kitchen I tried peeling them by swishing them round in my hand, from one hand to another to sieve the peel off and then finally into a bowl. I felt like a pro until I stopped and looked. When I looked down, I had a bowl full of a mix of groundnuts and groundnut peel and a kitchen worktop covered in groundnut peel, with the occassional nut found here and there.

As I cleaned the countertop and reminisced of the seller peeling, I had to ask myself, how the hell does she do it???

A book a day...

The pile of unread books in my room is growing higher and higher. It is time I confess one of my many shameful secrets: Since moving to Ghana in September, 2005, I have read no more than 9 books. 2 of them I read in my first two weeks in the country and the third during my first Christmas holiday. The rest were read…in Sweden during summer 2006 and 2007. Then of course there’s Khalil Gibran which I read a few months ago. I feel embarrassed thinking about it, but more so, I feel like I don’t know myself.

Books have always been my crack (excuse the comparison), but really it’s true. As a child I was so upset that you could only borrow 10 books per time at Frölunda biblioteket and was even more disappointed one summer in London when Tooting library would only allow us three (or was it five?) books at a time.

The problem now is that I continue to buy and borrow books from friends, start them and never finish. Currently on my nightstand are the following:





...and of course,

(almost done). I am finally getting back into the reading mode, unfortunately time is not on my side.

After thinking it over time and time again, I finally realised why I don’t read anymore – I drive. Reading has always been a perfect commuting tool. On the train from East Croydon to Victoria or the bus or tram from Kungssten into Brunnsparken, what better to do than to pick a good book and read!

Hm, I wonder if a journey in a trotro can give me that same soothing reading atmosphere…

Lazy days

Another lazy Sunday in Tema and I can’t help but remember last Sunday’s events. K and I decided to treat our new friend to a typical Sunday in Tema. Well the plan was to let him try Omotuo (rice balls) and Groundnut soup for lunch at Agbamame, but the day became so much more than that.

While E and I waited for K to be ready for lunch, I gave him a tour of the city and realised the similarities to Gothenburg. There’s the village feel that clearly distinguishes it from the capital city, the green leafiness that reminds you that even if you’re in a city you’re close to nature. There’s the nice, quiet residential areas that are well separated from the grey, impersonal industrial area (never realised how much Industrial Area and the Harbour are like Hisingen). Then of course there’s the sea, the ocean that provides you with a breeze and fresh salty air even as you get to the inner parts of the city.

Anyway, I digress. We met K and her husband at Agbamame and sat to enjoy our food. After that I thought it would be perfect to have a drink at Ave Maria (formerly Tema Beach Club). On our way there in my car, we realised the road was too muddy to drive through, but we saw a drier patch on the grass, by the side of the road. Well, it was only once we were in it that we realised we’d driven into a gutter that had been disguised by the mud and grass. Poor Roger was stuck. On the secluded road to Ave Maria, on a Sunday afternoon. What were the chances of getting help?

We were reminded that we were in Ghana when 3 out of the only 4 cars that passed by stopped to help us, including a man on his way to a party. Unfortunately they couldn’t get the car out no matter how much they tried, but a truck passing by stopped and towed Roger out of the gutter. After we were safely out, all our helpers left, expecting no reward, just feeling satisfied our car had been rescued.

So in true Ghana stylee, we took the mud-covered Roger to the carwash and watched him get a good scrub down while we had drinks at the perfectly placed drinking spot next door. The rest of the day was spent drinking delicious Rum cocktails and Kasapreko strawberry drinks whilst catching the Euro 2008 finals.

Apart from showing E a typical Ghanaian Sunday, I am glad he got to experience, and we were reminded of, the beautiful Ghanaian spirit of helping without expecting or demanding anything back. I hope everyone gets the chance to experience it at some point in their lives.

Swedish debates

Catching up on the Swedish blogs over the past week or two tells me of a few debates going on. Maria Sveland, author of Bitterfittan (the bitter see-you-next-tuesday = C-U-..., if you catch my drift), has critised the nuclear family(Swedish link), which she herself is part of. Many bloggers are attacking what she's written and her pot-calling-kettle-black actions.

About a week ago, a child invited all his classmates but two to his birthday party. This has caused uproar with people attacking the family of encouraging bullying. Bloggers have between themselves debated as to whether one should be allowed to invite only a few classmates to parties, or should compulsorily invite all of them. This has raised further issues of how would it be managed financially by the family.

Two weeks ago, movie reviewer Hans Wiklund insulted every SATC lover by saying those who loved the movie ought to be given lower salaries and would be better off watching the Hulk (yes, you hear how sane and intelligent he himself sounds), and since then, well since the hype of SATC started, debates have been going on. Is SATC a feminist thing? Does it encourage too much materialism? How does it affect teenage girls? What image of the world is it giving them?

As I read about this topics, my head is screaming I-LANDS PROBLEM!!! (first world problems) And I can't help but smile at the thought of these issues being discussed in Ghana. Somehow, we're not quite there yet, where there is a constant over-analysis of life. I must say I feel a bit relieved.

The green land next door

I was searching for an English link to a Swedish article that I wanted to share, and instead I found this, Nigerian prostitutes working the streets of Gothenburg. As most Ghanaians already know, judging from the well known quote, and as we were reminded during the Ghana-Nigeria game at CAN 2008: "God is not a Lagosian".

But when, oh when, will we hear something positive about Nigerians for a change? Come naijas, we know that surely you must be doing good things too. Come out and speak, don't let the 419:ers overshadow your achievements.

Work

For now the only thing I really have time for is work. It's so overwhelming, but luckily so interesting and exciting that I am actually enjoying working overtime rather than hating it. Unfortunately blogging will suffer. Hopefully not too mcuh ;)