Maya Angelou

Today, as I walked from work to pick up Em, I was fighting back tears. I had to walk faster and faster, hide myself behind my sunglasses and keep my head bowed down to make it all the way to her preschool. Why? As I left my office, I got a text from my brother, Mr. T., saying "Maya Angelou died today". As you may know, I am a huge fan, which I wrote about here and as I cut my usual 15 minute walk to about 10 minutes, my head was spinning, thinking of all the things Maya Angelou has meant to me.

Social media is flooded by tributes to her and as I read, I realise part of my grief is because she is the only person I have adored, admired, been inspired by and desired to meet, even for just a moment, a glimpse of her great wisdom. I'm not a fan of many, in fact, I think Maya Angelou may be my only idol. In many ways, I see her as my spiritual grandmother (and today it hit me that just like three of my grandparents, she also died at 86 years old).


Rest in peace, Maya. I know I'm among millions who will continue turning to your words for guidance, inspiration, strength and wisdom.

Komla Dumor 1972-2014

My heart skipped a beat when I heard of Komla Dumor's death. Unlike many of my Facebook friends, I have no personal anecdote to share, but like just about every other Ghanaian, I felt great pride every time I saw him report on BBC. What an excellent ambassador for Ghana! Since last night, my thoughts and prayers have been with his family, especially his three small children who have lost their father. No one should ever die that young. Rest in Peace, Komla.

(picture borrowed fromwww.superghana.com)

London

I'm standing at Vauxhall station waiting for a train from Earlsfield. My jacket's still a bit damp from this morning's rain, but now it's sunny and dry. In front of me, planes are appearing out of the sky.

Up they fly, drifting in and out of the clouds. It takes about one minute for each plane to pass above me, then it disappears out of my eye's reach, above the stations roof. As soon as on has passed, another appears in front of me. In between the planes, I hear announcements being made:

"The 10:20 London Waterloo train will be delayed by approximately 32 minutes. This is due to a suspected fatality at Wimbledon. We apologise for any inconvenience caused."

As my own train's arrival time keeps shifting, 10:40, 10:48, 10:50, 11:01, it is only the sweet sounds of Adele that keep me calm, as I calculate how late I will be for my appointment. The train, finally, surprisingly shows up at 10:53 and I arrive 'only' 15 minutes late.

On my way home several hours later, with the melancholic "Someone like you" playing in my ears, the Evening Standard confirms that a woman in her sixties was indeed hit by a train and killed at Wimbledon.

Another day in London has just passed by.

Death on Facebook

Speaking of death, I read an interesting article on a topic I have considered many times. How does Facebook handle the death of its members? Remember my friend G? It's been three years and I still get birthday reminders on Facebook. I am sure I'm not the only one of his friends who sees these as a painful reminder of his death. Still, it would feel strangely cruel to defriend him just because he's passed away (in the same way it is difficult to erase a dead person's phone number from your phonebook).

In the article, Liza Campbell mentions how one of her deceased friends makes a new friend a good four months after passing away. I too have seen that happen.

I know many prefer for the dead person's Facebook page to still exist, as it becomes part of the grieving process to look at old pictures and updates of the deceased. Would it not be relatively simple though, to say that upon the receipt of a copy of a death notice/certificate, Facebook will at least disable the deceased's account from being able to make new friends and from having birthday notices sent out?

Or am I thinking in too simple terms?

The Rumour Mill

Two weeks ago, I bumped into an old friend, LC, in Gothenburg. After the initial excitement of seeing each other for the first time in 16 years, she told me she had some bad news; somebody we both knew, Mrs G, had passed away.

I, in turn, passed on the news to my mum and my brother (Mr. T). (LC and I knew each other because Mr. T and her little brother were in the same football team for over a decade. Mrs G, was the mother of another teammate). We all mourned together and were trying to work out how Mrs. G, who would be in her early 60s had passed away, especially as I had been informed it was a very sudden, unexpected death.

In the end we decided that, rather than Mr. T trying to approach his friend, which would be too blunt and awful (imagine, "hey, how are you? By the way is it true your mother passed away?"), we'd try searching for info on Facebook, where you can always find a clue to things, one way or another.

Well, as always, Facebook comes to the rescue. Today my mum abruptly interrupted me on the phone to say: " I have to tell you something, Mrs G is still alive!". And how we know? Mr. T search on his friend's Fb page, somehow managed to get onto the friend's brother's girlfriend's page were she had as her status: So happy after spending the Midsummer weekend with my boyfriend and his huge family. Then she goes on to list them and of course the list included Mrs G! And this was posted days after I received her death notice.

See how quickly people can be killed off and some of us spend (unnecessary) time mourning them? Still I guess it's nice to be able to spread the good news, like I did to my father five minutes ago, that, hey: Mrs G has resurrected!

All Hallows Eve

The twentyone year old man gets home and hears his father calling erratically. Once he follows his father's voice and locates him in the kitchen, it is already too late. His father is heaped on the floor in an unconcious state. The young man runs to call his mother, who's shopping in town, completely unaware of the tragedy that's taking place at home. She drops her would-be purchases and calls a friend to drive her home as she knows she's unable to safely drive herself home, after hearing the news of her husband's collapse. Little does she know her husband is not only unconcious, he's actually dead.

In just a few seconds, a whole family's life changes forever. The two sons are fatherless, the wife suddenly a widow. And it is not only the family that is affected, by Thursday morning, all his work mates will come to realise what happened that eery afternoon dated 090909.

The news reaches us today, on All Hallows Eve: our good family friend, known to us for about 23 years, and in recent years my brother's colleague, died so suddenly, unexpectedly from a brain hemorrhage on his kitchen floor. His wife cries to my mother, wishing my mother were with her in Sweden as she does not know how she will cope another day.

Already before I heard the news I had decided to abandon Halloween celebrations and rather light a candle for those who have passed on. However, the heat and Labone power cut, stopped me from getting my matches out. Well, if I were to light a candle, today it would be burning for you, Åke. Rest in Peace.

To the rest of you, happy halloween from my own friendly ghost!

Yesterday Farrah Fawcett was buried. Yes, for those who don't know, she died last Thursday, a few hours before Michael Jackson. As soon as the news hit that MJ had died, I thought "Poor Farrah Fawcett, she's gone and done a Mother Theresa".

If you can remember as far back as the summer of 1997, Mother Theresa died five days after Princess Diana and the day before Princess Diana's funeral. SkyNews, after discussing Diana's death for hours and hours spent approximately 30 seconds informing us in a very "by the way" manner that Mother Theresa had passed away. In the same way, as the grotesque media coverage of MJ's death continues, it seems the media networks are struggling to remember to mention Farrah every now and then.

And this does not only happen to celebrities. I remember a classmate's father's funeral that we went to in Takoradi a few years ago (yes, for those of you not living in Ghana, you are quite often expected to attend funerals of classmate's parents). The man in question was a former army man and High Court judge and was buried with all the fanfare attached to the army. 12-gun salute, soldiers carrying coffin and Ghana flag present, not to mention the hords of lawyers and judges that travelled from Accra. Unfortunately for her, Esther Appiah (I promised I'd remember her name to give her some importance, but to be honest I think it was something else) was buried in the same ceremony. The priest spent about 45 minutes talking about the late judge before sparing Esther about 3 minutes. I cringed as I saw her family leave the church from their mid-row seats (because of course, the judge's many guests had taken all the front seats).

Well, it all taught me a lesson I am happy to pass on. Let's make our mark on the world so as to not be buried in oblivion. And no matter what you do, never, never die on or around the same day as someone more important than you, because even in death you can be treated like a 2nd-class citizen.

Goodbye Michael

How cannot I not write about Michael Jackson? Last night I logged onto facebook and was shocked by the news. No matter how we perceived Michael Jackson, there's no disputing his musical genius. As soon as I heard of his death, some of my favourite songs passed through my head, Man in the Mirror, Dirty Diana and The way you make me feel. I always hoped that he'd get the opportunity to wash away the Wacko Jacko tag before he passed, unfortunately he didn't, but hopefully we'll focus on remembering his talent.

After spending a day out of Gothenburg, with lovely weather, friends and food, I got back into town just before the shops were closing. As I walked through the main mall to get to a department store where I could change my daughter's diaper, I realised that almost every shop I passed was playing Michael Jackson's songs.

MJ: the whole world mourns you!

Boobs, fat and fuel

It's amazing what you find when looking for links on the internet. I was looking for more links to celebrities who've lost their children. After all, John Travolta lost his son last week and Mia Farrow lost her adult daughter. Here in Ghana, a known member of society lost his 3.5 year old daughter after she tragically died in La Palm's swimming pool. (Apparently she somehow got into the adult pool which is not monitored by lifeguards). Could there be anything worse than experiencing the death of your child? I think not.

Any way, whilst browsing the world wide web for more details I first came across a story of outrage against facebook for banning pictures of babies being breastfed. Naturally, as a woman, and someone who sees nothing wrong in breastfeeding in public (despite whatever I may have written before!), I understand the upset people are feeling over these pictures being likened to pornography. However, after taking a peek at the facebook group "Hey, Facebook, breastfeeding is not obscene!(Official petition to Facebook)", my only question is why you would take, no, publish a picture of your baby being fed? Is it a matter of that being the only moment you catch him/her awake, or simply wanting to catch the moment and share it with friends and family? Only asking as most mothers I know feel a bit exposed whilst breastfeeding and I can't imagine them wanting to have their picture shared on facebook.

HOWEVER, what really intrigued me was the story of the doctor who took the fat from patients he had performed liposuction on and turned it into biodiesel for his and his girlfriend's cars! Surely this man is an ecological genius, no? Rather he has fled to South America as his practices were against California law. At first I thought, 'what a shame' as I am all for recycling, but after learning that his girlfriend performed some surgeries (without a medical licence!) and took out too much fat, I can see why it would be risky for him to gain from what he was taking out of the patients. After all, the way petrol prices used to go up, we'd all be tempted to steal a bit more fat from our would-be patients to keep our expenses down! Still, the avid recycler in me feels he was really on to something.

What do you think?

Two years ago...

As we're having breakfast this morning with a TV-movie playing in the background, what happens in the movie suddenly reminds me of what day it is today. Two years ago today, my dear family member, playmate and comforter passed away. Passed away I say, really she was put down, a decision made by the whole family. What a difficult decision to make!

Before owning a pet of my own, I belonged to the group of people who could not understand people crying over their dead pets, after all it's just an animal. But once you own one yourself and watch it become a part of your family, seeing it as "just an animal" becomes a very distant thought.

With us, all bad things happened to F around Christmas and New Year. First there was the car accident, when she was hit after one of the snowballs we were throwing in the garden flew out on to the road and she followed it, at merely four months old. Then there was the hysterectomy a few years later. And two years ago, after being told by the vet that keeping her alive would be considered torture as her internal organs were failing due to old age, she didn't even make it to Christmas.

Making that decision, whilst half of the family was in Ghana was the most difficult. Out of our own selfishness, we wanted to keep her alive til we could go and see her one last time, but realised it would not be fair on her. In the end, Mr. T called us before going in to Bla Stjarnans Animal hospital and once again 30 minutes later when the 'procedure' was over to let us know how it went. Being in Ghana made it all the harder. Who's going to understand when you say "I'm feeling really low because my dog, my family member of thirteen years has just died". Instead we spent the days until Christmas at home, trying to reminisce amongst ourselves of the great times we'd had with her.

Having F in the family for thirteen years has affected my life in so many ways, despite the fact I lived in another country for 6 of those years. To this day I think leftovers will be saved for "the dog" then remind myself I don't have one. Anytime I'm sad or crying, I expect to see F come to me with big sad brown eyes wondering why I'm not happy and putting her head in my lap until I feel better. Or I remember, when we're all very happy (usually after a football game) and rejoicing, how she'd come and jump around in the middle, making sure she didn't miss out on any of the fun.

My beautiful half-labrador/half-golden retriever is gone for good and as far as I am concerned, I'll never have a pet again. It is such a wonderful experience but the sadness once it's gone is too much, and the need to supress that sadness makes the mourning so much worse.

For the joys of having a dog, read this lovely post by Denise.

Christmas - R. I. P.

As my mind runs helter and skelter trying to analyse this hullabaloo that is the 2008 elections, and I am constantly surprised at how people have hitherto chosen to exercise their franchise, (there, I challenge you to create a sentence with more ridiculous phrases used in conversations here in Ghana, especially on TV, everyday!), it just hit me how bad this re-run will be.

At this point, I am assuming that we will go to round 2, In fact, contrary to my last post and the good intentions of yesterday, I have spent the past 6 1/2 hours (do the maths and you'll realise when I started) analysing statistics to see how we can best strategise to win round 2. Oh the wonderful life as a politician's wife!

Anyhoo, I just realised that if elections are held on the 28th, already ruining Christmas, we are going to go through this hell of waiting in anxiety and stress until (at the latest) 5pm on New Year's Eve! There go the lovely days of partying on those mellandagar (in-between days, 26th-30th December) when most people are off from work and at the same time under no obligation to socialise under formal settings. This is the time when the most fun barbecues and beach days occur, but I doubt there'll be as many thanks to the combination of credit crunch and election worry and even if there are, I don't think I can focus, relax or enjoy myself. Already my heart jumps at the mention of the words "win", "results" or "EC" (EC= electoral commission)!

This year's Christmas tree, proudly decorated by moi!

So now, as I take an hour's (sleep) break before dealing with real work, I guess I can say "goodbye Christmas, it was nice planning for you this year but I guess we'll catch up in 2009 instead".

Ten years on...

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in Gothenburg for a week, half-term, the first time back since making the big, adult move to London. I remember the arguments, my little brother wanting to stay out till the party ended at 6 a.m., my mother standing her ground. All factors working against Mr. T. Mr. T and I asking my mum why she was being so strict this time, come on, it's not every day there's an all night Halloween party for under 18s. My mum firm in cutting Mr. T's curfew by an hour or two. Something deep down inside her must have told her to do that.

I had my friends over for 'tjejmiddag' (dinner with the girls), we enjoyed, chatted and laughed. Just after they left, Mr. T came home with his best friend. By the time he had made it to the venue, he only had twenty minutes to spend inside before he'd have to head home to make the curfew. Instead, he saved his entrance fee and rather hung out with his friends just outside the entrance to the make-shift club. He left at 23.40. At 23.45 it all broke loose, hell.

Picture from Aftonbladet

I had promised to wait for him and met him at home around midnight. We talked for a bit then headed to bed. Before I woke, there had already been action in the house. Best friend's worried mother calling, demanding to speak to her son before she'd believe he was alive. Panicked older brother calling to check that Mr. T was really alive and safe. My parents not sure what was happening until they turned on the news.

The next days were filled of numbers, 48 dead, 53 dead, 72 dead, 61 dead. It settled on 63 in the end. Mr. T at the ripe old age of 15 was in and out of hospital, checking on his friends in the ICU, or worse, waiting to hear who had passed away.

I still remember it like it was yesterday. Lauryn Hill's album which I bought on the 29th of October still reminds me of that week, those days. Track 3 (I think?), Ex-factor, still brings me to tears when it's played. That was my song of grief. And yet, I was not close to anyone who passed away.

Ten years on, I can only wonder how the families of those young children, teenagers, are coping. Probably wondering where their sons and daughters would have been today. Ten years on, how are those, that made it but suffered from nightmares for years, surviving, those that had bite-marks indented in their thighs, from weaker people trying to hang on and get out with their everything, living? We can only wonder and hope that something like this never happens again.

Text reads:
The night of 30th October 1998 a massive fire broke out in this building.
Sixty three teenagers lost their lives and several more were injured.
Gothenburg became a city in mourning


I know the number is small, I know worse things happen everyday in the world. But in Gothenburg, this was, is, our tragedy. When 12-23 year-olds leave their houses to go to a Halloween party and end the night in bodybags.

Banku, bereavement and birthdays

What an enjoyable weekend!

It started with an evening chat in Cantonments at my cousin's house on Friday night. Saturday was spent visiting a recently widowed colleague, then off to Virgo's friend's house for (delicious!) groundnut soup and fufu. After that a quick trip to the in-laws turned into a 5-6 hour discussion on politics and the upcoming elections.

Sunday started with a church service in Korle Gonno for my aunt who'd been buried on Thursday, followed by the usual family gathering with 'small chops' and banku and tilapia.
(Picture from Virtual Tourist)


After a rest at the house with no electricity (or generator), my mother, Virgo and I then joined my uncle and his family for a lovely birthday dinner at Imperial Peking and to my surprise I had never noticed Granada hotel, which it is part of.

It was a weekend full of Ghanaian food and family values. The nicest part of it was seeing how people actually come together when someone has died. In this case, Mrs. D's husband, her husband of approximately 38 years, who passed away just a week ago. During our visit which lasted an hour or so, about five other people stopped by. Rather than creating an intrusion, which I had always assumed it would, it seemed to create a nice opportunity for her to speak about what had happened and for the visitors to praise her husband, without anyone putting pressure on her to serve drinks or food.

However, the 'light off' (that's power-cuts to you non-residents) in both Accra and Tema during the weekend lead to memories of load-shedding days, which I hope, nay, pray will remain a very distant memory!

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.

Fourth of the fourth

Yesterday's post never came up due to internet problems. Here it is:

Today is a day of celebration and remembrance for many. Happy birthday to the lovely Maya Angelou who turns eighty today, hope there are many more years (and books to come). My friend H also has her birthday today, haven't spoken to her in ages but sent her a text. It seems there are many birthdays out there that fall on the 4/4.


Today is also forty years since Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered. The article mentions that for years Maya didn't celebrate her birthday because her dear friend died on it.


What a wonderful legacy Martin Luther King Jr. left behind him, do you think he could imagine that already, in less than half a century from when blacks and whites could not sit together on a bus, we are on the brink of (possibly) having a Black president of the United States?

Today would also have been Heath Ledger's 29th birthday. Do you think he imagined in mid-January that he would not make it here?






And there sits a two year old girl who'll sadly not remember much of her father when she grows up. Hopefully watching his movies, that showcase his wonderful talent will help keep that memory alive.

Today I also took a step towards the end of a short era in my life. The letter was handed over, now time will tell what the future holds.

Spent the evening at H Lodge where auntie M had a little get together to celebrate her latest purchase. Just home now, feeling very tired. After shivering so much at work to the point where I earned the nickname Benazir Bhutto (how could anyone be offended by that?), because of how I wrapped myself in my pashmina, and feeling as exhausted as I do now, I just hope and wish that it is not malaria. Will see how I feel after a good night's sleep tomorrow. I say a good night's sleep but unfortunately the frog/cricket sing-along has already begun.