For weeks I have been wondering what's happening to Fidel Castro. It has been so quiet since Raoul took over I began to fear Fidel was no longer with us. Then, this Saturday he spoke out again. There are certain men who must be admired simply for the fact that they don't give a damn about what anyone thinks and therefore say exactly what they want. Castro is definitely one of them. There are not many of his comments I can disagree with relating to his opinions on the American election.
Personally, I never thought a black man would even get this far in a US election during my lifetime, but just as I begin to be impressed by the forward thinking nature of many Americans, I come across this video, which once again reminds me of the narrow-minded nature of the stereotypical red-neck.
...and suddenly, just like Castro, I can't help but feel it is a miracle that Obama is still alive, with all the ignorant, hateful people around in his country.
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
Monday, 13 October 2008
A nation of peace
...or something like that has been a constant message in the media for this year's elections, promoting the fact that we should all ensure peace leading to the December election. So far it seems to be working.
On Friday I attended Peter Ala Adjetey's funeral and fittingly found a seat somewhere between the lawyers and the political party representatives. Peter Ala Adjetey, a veteran NPP man and lawyer drew crowds of lawyers and members of the NPP party. Having been a speaker of Parliament and therefore having a state burial, other party members, former leaders and ministers from all party backgrounds were also present. About halfway through the service I realised Akufo-Addo, Rawlings, Mills and Kuffour were all sitting within 75 metres of each other.
A buzz went through the NPP audience when Akufo-Addo in his speech criticised Rawlings regime and all eyes turned to Rawlings. When during the story of Ala Adjetey's life it was mentioned how he commemorated three judges brutally murdered by Rawlings, I couldn't help but wonder what it felt like for Rawlings to sit at the front row, knowing the huge crowd was watching his every move. I was later reminded that Rawlings had even detained Ala Adjetey during his time in power and couldn't determine whether it took great guts or great audacity to attend his funeral.
Either way, I was extremely impressed by all the political big shots and the audience, that no one took the opportunity to campaign (Akuffo-Addo who spoke, did not in any way attempt to promote himself) and neither the personalities nor the crowd showed any animosity towards each other, even though we're less than two months to an election with a lot at stake.
The whole funeral almost ground to a halt as Kuffour was doing his goodbye rounds when leaving, every person wondering what would happen when he would reach Rawlings. Before he got there, all cameramen were already in place, almost blocking him from accessing Rawlings. Both men satisfied the crowd by showing greatness as they reached for each other and shook hands. I felt enormous pride that at such a time and with a very dramatic past two decades, these to opposing leaders could smile and shake each others hands.
As soon as the handshake was done, the composed nature of the crowd dissolved into a chaotic but good-tempered soar as people found their way to their political groups. A funeral which had looked like a staunch NPP event due to Ala Adjetey's background, showed itself quite mixed as a huge crowd of supporters rushed to greet and cheer Rawlings.
It was only then I realised what a composed crowd it had been. Men had stood side by side with their political opponents for hours, containing themselves to this point and only exposed their affiliations to celebrate their leaders rather than fight amongst each other.
Aaah, what a peaceful land!
On Friday I attended Peter Ala Adjetey's funeral and fittingly found a seat somewhere between the lawyers and the political party representatives. Peter Ala Adjetey, a veteran NPP man and lawyer drew crowds of lawyers and members of the NPP party. Having been a speaker of Parliament and therefore having a state burial, other party members, former leaders and ministers from all party backgrounds were also present. About halfway through the service I realised Akufo-Addo, Rawlings, Mills and Kuffour were all sitting within 75 metres of each other.
A buzz went through the NPP audience when Akufo-Addo in his speech criticised Rawlings regime and all eyes turned to Rawlings. When during the story of Ala Adjetey's life it was mentioned how he commemorated three judges brutally murdered by Rawlings, I couldn't help but wonder what it felt like for Rawlings to sit at the front row, knowing the huge crowd was watching his every move. I was later reminded that Rawlings had even detained Ala Adjetey during his time in power and couldn't determine whether it took great guts or great audacity to attend his funeral.
Either way, I was extremely impressed by all the political big shots and the audience, that no one took the opportunity to campaign (Akuffo-Addo who spoke, did not in any way attempt to promote himself) and neither the personalities nor the crowd showed any animosity towards each other, even though we're less than two months to an election with a lot at stake.
The whole funeral almost ground to a halt as Kuffour was doing his goodbye rounds when leaving, every person wondering what would happen when he would reach Rawlings. Before he got there, all cameramen were already in place, almost blocking him from accessing Rawlings. Both men satisfied the crowd by showing greatness as they reached for each other and shook hands. I felt enormous pride that at such a time and with a very dramatic past two decades, these to opposing leaders could smile and shake each others hands.
As soon as the handshake was done, the composed nature of the crowd dissolved into a chaotic but good-tempered soar as people found their way to their political groups. A funeral which had looked like a staunch NPP event due to Ala Adjetey's background, showed itself quite mixed as a huge crowd of supporters rushed to greet and cheer Rawlings.
It was only then I realised what a composed crowd it had been. Men had stood side by side with their political opponents for hours, containing themselves to this point and only exposed their affiliations to celebrate their leaders rather than fight amongst each other.
Aaah, what a peaceful land!
Thursday, 9 October 2008
That One
Yesterday, after catching the replays of the presidential debate (I have finally recovered from the fact that I stayed up til it started, fell asleep after a few minutes and woke up as soon as it was over, argh!), I spent most of the day remembering the 'that one' remark.
In my opinion, it feels like through that remark and the fact that McCain can hardly ever look Obama, sorry, that One, in the eye or even look at him, the feelings he has towards Obama go far beyond professional rivalry and rather thread onto severe personal resentment towards him. Not wanting to brand anyone a racist, after all it may be Obama's youth or the fact that he could take away McCain's last chance of becoming a president that causes the hatred, I still feel that I would not be surprised to catch McCain refer to Obama as "boy" or by any other derogatory term.
Anyhoo, the main reason for this post was not to speculate on McCain's feelings towards Obama, but rather to refer you to that One's latest website. Do check it out, it put a smile on my face. More than anything, I love to see a bad thing being turned around to something positive and I am always amazed at the American ability of commercialising EVERYTHING!
Now what's happening with our own election? I know the guys are busy on the campaign trail, but it feels like the buzz in the news and on the streets is still very much focused on the US elections. Time to get the insider info so I can hopefully get back to you with some juicy political gossip!
In my opinion, it feels like through that remark and the fact that McCain can hardly ever look Obama, sorry, that One, in the eye or even look at him, the feelings he has towards Obama go far beyond professional rivalry and rather thread onto severe personal resentment towards him. Not wanting to brand anyone a racist, after all it may be Obama's youth or the fact that he could take away McCain's last chance of becoming a president that causes the hatred, I still feel that I would not be surprised to catch McCain refer to Obama as "boy" or by any other derogatory term.
Anyhoo, the main reason for this post was not to speculate on McCain's feelings towards Obama, but rather to refer you to that One's latest website. Do check it out, it put a smile on my face. More than anything, I love to see a bad thing being turned around to something positive and I am always amazed at the American ability of commercialising EVERYTHING!
Now what's happening with our own election? I know the guys are busy on the campaign trail, but it feels like the buzz in the news and on the streets is still very much focused on the US elections. Time to get the insider info so I can hopefully get back to you with some juicy political gossip!
Wednesday, 8 October 2008
Buying property in Ghana?
I cannot talk about anything else until I mention the assault that my dear friend Ruby's sister suffered, being beaten by her real estate developer! It is such an important read for any person interested in buying property in Ghana as these developers are apparently notoriously known by lawyers and other professionals and yet seem to get away with whatever they do. Please read the article which states their and their company's names, to ensure you're not their next victim.
Unfortunately this merely adds to the already difficult and risky venture of attempting to buy property in Ghana, with all the land disputes, multiple sales, additional costs and litigation generally involved. (Believe me, even I have experienced some of it).
Unfortunately this merely adds to the already difficult and risky venture of attempting to buy property in Ghana, with all the land disputes, multiple sales, additional costs and litigation generally involved. (Believe me, even I have experienced some of it).
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
My Wedding
Let me first give you some advice: Don't plan a wedding in Sweden when you're in a scorching hot Ghana. Why? It's easy to forget what the temperatures are like when getting towards October in the Nordic regions!
As I landed in London a week before the wedding and immediately froze my butt off from the cold, I suddenly realised how stupid it was of me to choose a strapless dress for my outdoor wedding in Gothenburg at the end of September. Anyway, being the bride, I was the last to arrive and therefore probably suffered the least.
We arrived in a sunny Gothenburg, which (surprisingly to others), as usual was milder than the harsh British autumn. On the Friday when the sun came out strong around 12.30, I smiled, knowing that my one o'clock wedding the next day would be fine, the sun would have had half an hour to warm up the place before the ceremony got going. That evening my friend K pointed out that she'd heard it would be extremely windy the next day, a fact I quickly brushed off. Did I also mention I chose one of the highest, windiest points in Gothenburg, the heights by Masthuggskyrkan (choesen for its beautiful view, not its windy nature)?
The wind turned the whole event into a torturous ceremony for those used to warmer temperatures, but all the same it was a lovely, intimate and very relaxed day with my nearest and dearest.
Windy City
The veil finally manages to escape
Cutiepie A
Then we changed into kente for that Ghanaian touch
Me and my mama
Naturally, Sunday and Monday were warm, sunny and less windy than my Saturday!
As I landed in London a week before the wedding and immediately froze my butt off from the cold, I suddenly realised how stupid it was of me to choose a strapless dress for my outdoor wedding in Gothenburg at the end of September. Anyway, being the bride, I was the last to arrive and therefore probably suffered the least.
We arrived in a sunny Gothenburg, which (surprisingly to others), as usual was milder than the harsh British autumn. On the Friday when the sun came out strong around 12.30, I smiled, knowing that my one o'clock wedding the next day would be fine, the sun would have had half an hour to warm up the place before the ceremony got going. That evening my friend K pointed out that she'd heard it would be extremely windy the next day, a fact I quickly brushed off. Did I also mention I chose one of the highest, windiest points in Gothenburg, the heights by Masthuggskyrkan (choesen for its beautiful view, not its windy nature)?
The wind turned the whole event into a torturous ceremony for those used to warmer temperatures, but all the same it was a lovely, intimate and very relaxed day with my nearest and dearest.
Windy City
The veil finally manages to escape
Cutiepie A
Then we changed into kente for that Ghanaian touch
Me and my mama
Naturally, Sunday and Monday were warm, sunny and less windy than my Saturday!
Monday, 6 October 2008
Emotional reading
On the topic of reading, I just finished a fantastic, but oh so emotional book. I almost didn't write about it because it is in Swedish and as far as I know it hasn't been translated yet so it felt a bit unfair to my non-Swedish speaking readers to write about it.
However, this book took over my emotions for the whole four, five days I spent reading it. Mig äger ingen ('nobody owns me', or directly translated 'me, nobody owns') by Åsa Linderborg is the story of her upbringing and her father's life from when she was three, the age at which her mother left them. She perfectly portrays the life of the daughter of an alcoholic man. What makes the book so sad, in my view, is the love and affection for her father that shines through the awful childhood she has. From not washing (her body, that is) until the weekend visits at her aunt's house, to her father taking money given to her by her grandmother, to buy booze.
It is the love and the lack of accusation, resentment or bitterness that makes it all so sad. The fact that the father did show her love and she loved him back no matter how horrible their reality was. The realisation of how beautiful their life could have been had her father not been caught in the chains of alcoholism. Saddest of all is that this is the reality for so many children of the world, a reality that haunts these children into their adult years.
As I read through the last few chapters, I had to stop after every two or three pages, pausing to try and stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, but it was impossible. The Ghana International Airlines staff looked at me strangely when I, with red, puffed eyes asked for some tissues then dove back into the book.
I finished reading an hour to landing and twenty four hours later I still feel sad every now and then when I recall something from the book. I wish this book could be given to all alcoholic fathers for them to realise how they sculpt and damage their children's lives. Then again, I doubt that any reading can help when you're in the deepest grips of alcoholism.
Lastly, I hope that this book will soon be translated into English (if it hasn't already been), so that you all get the opportunity to read it.
However, this book took over my emotions for the whole four, five days I spent reading it. Mig äger ingen ('nobody owns me', or directly translated 'me, nobody owns') by Åsa Linderborg is the story of her upbringing and her father's life from when she was three, the age at which her mother left them. She perfectly portrays the life of the daughter of an alcoholic man. What makes the book so sad, in my view, is the love and affection for her father that shines through the awful childhood she has. From not washing (her body, that is) until the weekend visits at her aunt's house, to her father taking money given to her by her grandmother, to buy booze.
It is the love and the lack of accusation, resentment or bitterness that makes it all so sad. The fact that the father did show her love and she loved him back no matter how horrible their reality was. The realisation of how beautiful their life could have been had her father not been caught in the chains of alcoholism. Saddest of all is that this is the reality for so many children of the world, a reality that haunts these children into their adult years.
As I read through the last few chapters, I had to stop after every two or three pages, pausing to try and stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, but it was impossible. The Ghana International Airlines staff looked at me strangely when I, with red, puffed eyes asked for some tissues then dove back into the book.
I finished reading an hour to landing and twenty four hours later I still feel sad every now and then when I recall something from the book. I wish this book could be given to all alcoholic fathers for them to realise how they sculpt and damage their children's lives. Then again, I doubt that any reading can help when you're in the deepest grips of alcoholism.
Lastly, I hope that this book will soon be translated into English (if it hasn't already been), so that you all get the opportunity to read it.
Sunday, 5 October 2008
Hello...
I'm back in Ghana after a whirlwind trip which took me to London, Pisa, Venice, London, Gothenburg, London, Nice, Monte Carlo and back to London. I knew I looked forward to getting home - after a while the constant travelling gets a bit much - but until we passed airport roundabout, Holiday Inn and those places, I never realised just how happy I was to see my beautiful Ghana again. The reason for the trip, and the reason for most of my stress and lack of writing in the past several weeks was...my wedding!
The wedding was a perfect blend of my roots, held on a beautiful cliff in Gothenburg with, erm typical windy Gothenburg weather, but with a reception where Hip- and Highlife was played in the background and jollof, chicken and kelewele was a staple dish served. More of that later though.
As we landed I realised it was the first time in my life, and bear in mind I've been flying to Ghana since 1980 (although I probably didn't remember those earlier flights), that I saw us landing at Kotoka in daylight! It felt amazing to be able to point out Legon Hill, Action Chapel, the Accra Mall (actually that is seen even at night) and other sights. Perhaps it was being able to see all these places so clearly that lead to the excitement that overpowered me when I got out of the airport.
I had a smile on my face all the way to the house, soaked in the warm, humid air and as I continue to postpone the unpacking of my bags (probably for another week or two), I look forward to, and I am glad, to start my new married life here, at home in Ghana.
The wedding was a perfect blend of my roots, held on a beautiful cliff in Gothenburg with, erm typical windy Gothenburg weather, but with a reception where Hip- and Highlife was played in the background and jollof, chicken and kelewele was a staple dish served. More of that later though.
As we landed I realised it was the first time in my life, and bear in mind I've been flying to Ghana since 1980 (although I probably didn't remember those earlier flights), that I saw us landing at Kotoka in daylight! It felt amazing to be able to point out Legon Hill, Action Chapel, the Accra Mall (actually that is seen even at night) and other sights. Perhaps it was being able to see all these places so clearly that lead to the excitement that overpowered me when I got out of the airport.
I had a smile on my face all the way to the house, soaked in the warm, humid air and as I continue to postpone the unpacking of my bags (probably for another week or two), I look forward to, and I am glad, to start my new married life here, at home in Ghana.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Carneval on the bus.
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.
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.
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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