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 ;)