I'm back in London for a day before I move on to other destinations. After reading European blogs that were all complaining about the freezing weather last week, I was quite worried before coming. Last night I told SQB "I'm already freezing in Ghana (it was chilly last night, no?), how will I survive abroad???"
Well, we were met by a sunny London, chilly at first, early in the morning, but as the day went along it got to about 20 degrees! It was great seeing people out and about in tank tops and supershort shorts, halterneck dresses and sunglasses. I quickly got rid of my jumper, scarf and tights and could suddenly blend in, no longer looking like the latest immigrant in town!
We took a bus from the end of the world, sorry, Gravesend, to Bluewater. The busride was peaceful and quiet and we enjoyed the scenery as we rode along. But once we got to Greenhithe station, a group of people got on the bus, a loud and happy crowd. After a few seconds of eavesdropping, it was clear to me that they were Brazilian adn definitely new in town. Their loud chatter was anything other than disturbing or offensive, rather their elated discourse set the rhythm of samba on the bus, the beautiful drawl of their Portugese, a much nicer version than what is spoken in Portugal, was like music to my ears and all I could do was smile. The happiness and excitement surrounding them quickly spread to the rest of the bus, actually, I think I even felt a few more sunrays across my face.
As I told Virgo when we got off the bus, it was like a small wave of Rio carneval washed over our bus for those few minutes.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Friday, 19 September 2008
Food for thought
The whole morning I've been longing for, no, obsessing about a Swedish breakfast. Not the quick on-my-way-to-work yoghurt and sandwich, but a full on summer holiday style breakfast. Googled a few images, as if to try and satisfy myself (it didn't) but it reminded me of what I already knew I was missing. (Picture stolen randomly from this blog)
Of course, the picture only gives an idea of a sample breakfast. Mine would have O'boy rather than coffee
, there would of course be boiled egg on knäckebröd with Kalles Kaviar
(then again I have loads of Kalles Kaviar here so I don't miss that too much), the cheese would be Herrgårdsost 
or Prästost, the margarine Lätt o Lagom
rather than Lätta and of course there would be fil there as well, possibly a bowl with frozen blueberries sprinkled in it.
All this reminiscing made me not enjoy my would-be delicious brunch of sliced avocado, tomatoes, boiled egg, tuna mix and crackers.
Anyway, it won't be long now before I finally get to enjoy such a breakfast again!
Of course, the picture only gives an idea of a sample breakfast. Mine would have O'boy rather than coffee
, there would of course be boiled egg on knäckebröd with Kalles Kaviar 
(then again I have loads of Kalles Kaviar here so I don't miss that too much), the cheese would be Herrgårdsost 
or Prästost, the margarine Lätt o Lagom
rather than Lätta and of course there would be fil there as well, possibly a bowl with frozen blueberries sprinkled in it.
All this reminiscing made me not enjoy my would-be delicious brunch of sliced avocado, tomatoes, boiled egg, tuna mix and crackers.
Anyway, it won't be long now before I finally get to enjoy such a breakfast again!
Wednesday, 17 September 2008
Life, work and socialising
Life is now: work, planning, organising, booking, accounting, meetings, strategies, more planning, organising, booking, accounting, meetings, strategies, and of course, lots and lots of driving in crazy Accra traffic. The driving means witnessing lots of 'almost' accidents and sometimes real accidents like the one at Labone Coffee Shop junction today, where it seemed a car had crashed with another car and a motorbike. Luckily, they all looked unhurt.
The stress means losing things, like the scrap piece of paper on which I wrote down a blogpost I wanted to share. The running up and down (and of course the fact that I wrote it on the back of a receipt instead of in a notebook) means that it's probably lost forever, and I have no time to try and remember what I had written. :(
Tomorrow, I'll take a break from the running around to meet some interesting, like-minded people in the early evening, then I hope to get away in time to watch the second of John Amoateng Kantara's films at the Dubois Centre around 7. The film may not be on the schedule in the link, but it is definitely being shown, due to a technical problem at the planned Monday screening. As it is about life as an 'afro-German' I think it would be of interest to any person who's grown up as an 'afro-anything' and of course even to other people too. Monday's film was definitely interesting, and apparently this one will be even more so.
The way life is at the moment, with the stresses of combining work and necessary social commitments, my head is screaming: "screw feminism, oh to be a housewife!"
The stress means losing things, like the scrap piece of paper on which I wrote down a blogpost I wanted to share. The running up and down (and of course the fact that I wrote it on the back of a receipt instead of in a notebook) means that it's probably lost forever, and I have no time to try and remember what I had written. :(
Tomorrow, I'll take a break from the running around to meet some interesting, like-minded people in the early evening, then I hope to get away in time to watch the second of John Amoateng Kantara's films at the Dubois Centre around 7. The film may not be on the schedule in the link, but it is definitely being shown, due to a technical problem at the planned Monday screening. As it is about life as an 'afro-German' I think it would be of interest to any person who's grown up as an 'afro-anything' and of course even to other people too. Monday's film was definitely interesting, and apparently this one will be even more so.
The way life is at the moment, with the stresses of combining work and necessary social commitments, my head is screaming: "screw feminism, oh to be a housewife!"
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Friday, 12 September 2008
Strange dream...
As I wait for documentary evidence of what has been keeping me busy in the past few days, can somebody please analyse this dream for me (maybe a job for Posekyere?):
I am driving through the villages between Kwabenya and Aburi.
As I get to the Kitasi junction, I join the main road recklessly, not caring that there is actually a car already on the road. Just as I am in front of Peduase Lodge, the road suddenly divides into two directions, each a three lane, autobahn style motorway. I am completely confused as to which way will take me back to Accra, so at the last second, I turn left. A few meters down the road I see some hawkers (only in Ghana could I imagine seeing hawkers on an autobahn like motorway!) and ask them for directions. They tell me I've chosen the wrong route and since there is no way to turn until you reach Togo (I vaguely remember it being Togo or somewhere equally far), I start reversing back on the shoulder, till I get back to Peduase Lodge and turn right.
All of a sudden the right route is no longer a three lane motorway, but more like a high street in a town, and today, there's a race of some kind going on. I am suddenly riding a bike instead of driving, and in front of me I see volunteers handing out snacks and drinks to those part-taking in the race, as they usually do during marathons. However, when I get closer I realise, it's not water being handed out, it's Cornetto ice cream
and OLW Cheez Doodles! 
I desperately want some and start aiming for a man holding Cornetto and looking towards him. As I get close to him, I try to brake, but because my mind still thinks I'm driving, when I stretch my leg to brake, I rather ride right into him and manage to kick him at the same time with my stretched out leg.
Desperate as I am, I apologise, quickly get back on my bike and ride along, trying to catch up with the next Cornetto holder I see. I finally get my Cornetto, stand, leaning over the steering of the bike and enjoy the ice cream, my cheez doodles neatly tucked in under my arm. At this point somebody taps me on the shoulder, I turn round and my first boyfriend is standing there smiling, but I hardly recognise him as he's put on so much weight it looks like he is about to explode.
Before he manages to say anything, I wake up. I had this dream during a 20 min (!) nap earlier in the week. What does this mean???!
I am driving through the villages between Kwabenya and Aburi.
As I get to the Kitasi junction, I join the main road recklessly, not caring that there is actually a car already on the road. Just as I am in front of Peduase Lodge, the road suddenly divides into two directions, each a three lane, autobahn style motorway. I am completely confused as to which way will take me back to Accra, so at the last second, I turn left. A few meters down the road I see some hawkers (only in Ghana could I imagine seeing hawkers on an autobahn like motorway!) and ask them for directions. They tell me I've chosen the wrong route and since there is no way to turn until you reach Togo (I vaguely remember it being Togo or somewhere equally far), I start reversing back on the shoulder, till I get back to Peduase Lodge and turn right.
All of a sudden the right route is no longer a three lane motorway, but more like a high street in a town, and today, there's a race of some kind going on. I am suddenly riding a bike instead of driving, and in front of me I see volunteers handing out snacks and drinks to those part-taking in the race, as they usually do during marathons. However, when I get closer I realise, it's not water being handed out, it's Cornetto ice cream
and OLW Cheez Doodles! 
I desperately want some and start aiming for a man holding Cornetto and looking towards him. As I get close to him, I try to brake, but because my mind still thinks I'm driving, when I stretch my leg to brake, I rather ride right into him and manage to kick him at the same time with my stretched out leg.
Desperate as I am, I apologise, quickly get back on my bike and ride along, trying to catch up with the next Cornetto holder I see. I finally get my Cornetto, stand, leaning over the steering of the bike and enjoy the ice cream, my cheez doodles neatly tucked in under my arm. At this point somebody taps me on the shoulder, I turn round and my first boyfriend is standing there smiling, but I hardly recognise him as he's put on so much weight it looks like he is about to explode.
Before he manages to say anything, I wake up. I had this dream during a 20 min (!) nap earlier in the week. What does this mean???!
Thursday, 4 September 2008
Gothenburg, je t'aime!
No time to blog, really, I promise! Just had to vent. Today a crazy person threw a stone the size of a brick on my car, leaving Roger with a nice 5 inch/12cm scratch. Until then, I'd always felt sympathy towards the mentally ill, trying to think of what could be done to help them. But in that moment, as Roger's paint bled, my fingers itched to pick up the stone lying next to my foot, aim hard and throw it at his head! i didn't of course, partly because I am after all sane, but mostly because I was scared of how he'd retaliate.
No wonder all forms of political correctness are gone in Ghana when referring to mentally ill persons. Because surely, it is only here that a mentally ill person can, in legislation be referred to as an "insane lunatic"!
Anyway, since I don't know when I'll blog again, thought it would be nice to show some pictures of my trip to La Suède. Enjoy!
(All from a spontaneous Friday evening trip on my friend's father's boat to the mini islands at the south of Gothenburg.)
Baby A chilling...
...whilst baby L is lifted to the skies by his proud maternal gramps...
...and paternal grandma...
...and his name called out three times, as is common in the traditional Ghanaian outdooring.
No wonder all forms of political correctness are gone in Ghana when referring to mentally ill persons. Because surely, it is only here that a mentally ill person can, in legislation be referred to as an "insane lunatic"!
Anyway, since I don't know when I'll blog again, thought it would be nice to show some pictures of my trip to La Suède. Enjoy!
(All from a spontaneous Friday evening trip on my friend's father's boat to the mini islands at the south of Gothenburg.)
Baby A chilling...
...whilst baby L is lifted to the skies by his proud maternal gramps...
...and paternal grandma...
...and his name called out three times, as is common in the traditional Ghanaian outdooring.
Pressure
The pressure is mounting, at work and privately. It will all hopefully have a happy ending by the end of the month (a whole 26 days away!). On top of it all, I've gotten a mild cold/flu (fever, stay away, I really don't have time for you now!) and after a very active night I can conclude that my body is unable to digest palm oil in a pleasant way. At first I though it was the spinach that caused me a sleepless night, because I know of people who've had allergic reactions to the Ghanaian spinach leaves. But I always eat spinach without problems when my dear mama has cooked it.
Then I remembered a Saturday morning two years ago when I had a rendezvous with my lunch of kontomire (spinach stew) and plantain from the previous day at Country Kitchen...in my mother's sink! She wasn't pleased I can tell you. And although I haven't made it back to Country Kitchen since, I know it wasn't their fault.
It was only a few hours ago that I remembered that my mum makes a special kontomire for me, using sunflower or olive oil instead of palm oil, because I've always complained of the taste of palm oil. So I am pretty sure it was the oil that caused my problems. Has anyone else experienced the same problem? The strange thing is that I can eat abenkwan (palmnut soup) without any issues.
For now, it means the delicious kontomire will be given to others, and I can only hope that my detailed account of my bowl problems form last night, won't make your bowls turn. ;)
Then I remembered a Saturday morning two years ago when I had a rendezvous with my lunch of kontomire (spinach stew) and plantain from the previous day at Country Kitchen...in my mother's sink! She wasn't pleased I can tell you. And although I haven't made it back to Country Kitchen since, I know it wasn't their fault.
It was only a few hours ago that I remembered that my mum makes a special kontomire for me, using sunflower or olive oil instead of palm oil, because I've always complained of the taste of palm oil. So I am pretty sure it was the oil that caused my problems. Has anyone else experienced the same problem? The strange thing is that I can eat abenkwan (palmnut soup) without any issues.
For now, it means the delicious kontomire will be given to others, and I can only hope that my detailed account of my bowl problems form last night, won't make your bowls turn. ;)
Monday, 1 September 2008
John McCain strikes back
Trust John McCain to ruin simple statistics for a Ghanaian-Swedish blogger!
After a night full of dreams two days ago, I woke up impressed by the discovery I had made. Don't worry, it's not as fascinating as it sounds. In one of my many dreams, Obama's son was being accused of sexually assaulting a girl who was either John McCain or John Kerry's daughter. It could be Obamania even in my subconscious, but I suspect I dreamt about this because the last thing I read before bed was an article about Michelle Obama.
Of course, when I woke up, I remembered that Obama doesn't even have a son, he has two daughters. Then I thought, wait a minute: Bill Clinton has a daughter, George Dubya has two and Obama has two! Does it take a 'daughters-only' household to lead America in modern years?
Very proud of myself, I set off to research McCain as I have not heard anything about his children (and I really wanted to be able to write a sexist post on how having daughters is the key to success for American presidents-to-be). Naturally, as in politics, he had to oppose me. John McCain has SEVEN children! Two adopted sons, then two girls, two boys and an adopted girl (did I get it right?).
Then again, if all goes well in the election ;), my theory will come true, meaning that for almost two decades, to successfully make it to the White House, you have to aim to only produce girls.
Kind of puts a new spin on the saying 'behind every successful man is a woman'.
After a night full of dreams two days ago, I woke up impressed by the discovery I had made. Don't worry, it's not as fascinating as it sounds. In one of my many dreams, Obama's son was being accused of sexually assaulting a girl who was either John McCain or John Kerry's daughter. It could be Obamania even in my subconscious, but I suspect I dreamt about this because the last thing I read before bed was an article about Michelle Obama.
Of course, when I woke up, I remembered that Obama doesn't even have a son, he has two daughters. Then I thought, wait a minute: Bill Clinton has a daughter, George Dubya has two and Obama has two! Does it take a 'daughters-only' household to lead America in modern years?
Very proud of myself, I set off to research McCain as I have not heard anything about his children (and I really wanted to be able to write a sexist post on how having daughters is the key to success for American presidents-to-be). Naturally, as in politics, he had to oppose me. John McCain has SEVEN children! Two adopted sons, then two girls, two boys and an adopted girl (did I get it right?).
Then again, if all goes well in the election ;), my theory will come true, meaning that for almost two decades, to successfully make it to the White House, you have to aim to only produce girls.
Kind of puts a new spin on the saying 'behind every successful man is a woman'.
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