Moonlight in Boxes for Sale in the City of Accra

There are two classes of cheap charlatans creeping and crawling in Accra these days. First,the ‘locals’ who pretend to possess skills they really don’t have. Second, the ‘returnees’ who profess expertise they only saw others do back in the West, and think they can return to Africa and do the same (after all, the standards are low and nobody would find them out).

I hate both groups of people. I’ve heard one call himself a designer and call a local furniture maker with tasteful proficient finishing a carpenter. I've seen the work of both, and the carpenter trumps the artificer.

I am tired – and I’m sure I’m not alone – of so many so-called professionals in (or returning to) Ghana who remind me of an elephant trying to pick up a coin from the floor – bungling fools. It’s more painful to have a professional mess a job than a dabbler-struggler to admit from the start that they are only ‘trying their hands at it.’

Driving Mad-Maxly in the City of Accra *

A mindless, maniacal trotro (minibus) driver was marauding up the under-construction Spintex Road last night. He manoeuvred morbidly around my mild-mannered Maxine (my car) and left me in the wake of his soot. Not many moments later, the minibus was clobbered by a boulder and meanly mangled. I made mighty sure to honk to catch the attention of the pterodactyl that was driving it. When he it looked at me, I gave him it the Idiot’s Salute and whizzed Maxine past.

*I'll explain yesterday's post soon.

My Final Blog Post...

So, I got a mathematician friend to calculate how much time I’d save for myself (and my other interests) every day if I stopped blogging. Answer: a whopping 60 minutes.

Then I got a psycho-something friend to promise to help me with the withdrawal symptoms that are sure to happen. She says there’s no chance of depression.

And I got a priest friend ... nope, I lied – I’ve no priest friends.

Then I got a psychic friend to tell me through a crystal ball why I was inexplicably (to myself) quitting blogging. And she told me it was because I had rediscovered an old ‘love’. And since that old love could bring more money than blogging ever could...

Then I got a follower of my blog to tell me the truth that this blog would be missed for only one week, and then it would be forgotten ‘no sweat’.

I wonder if this is a good enough final post...

Mythical Creatures

So, if you are all so sure of whether a Sea Horse is real or mythical, how about each of you mention a different (well-known) mythical creature. Shall we exclude the Yeti, Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster?

Sea Horses

How’s your integrity today? Good?

Without using Google or a dictionary or any other source (but your brain) what’s your split-second answer to the following question? (It’d be more fun to post your answer before checking to see if you’re right).

Is the Sea Horse a mythical or real-life creature?













(Picture credit - biology-resources.com)

Breaking Eggs in the City of Accra

As early as I can remember, my twin was a very strong-minded person who could not be swayed easily from his assumed position. One case in point is a game we used to play – this by all my siblings and I. we’d catch one person unawares and throw an object at them with the shout “catch”, and they'd instinctively reach out and salvage it. Now my twin does (and did) not like surprises*. I caught him off-guard once and started flinging eggs out of a dozen-crate. He watched the first one arc through the air, hit him in the chest and plod to the ground, and two, and three, and four and six and eight. He watched them all break with a wicked chuckle and gleam in the eye. When I threw the twelfth egg in stupidity and disbelief he made to catch it, but his brain must have quickly reset itself to the position ante, so he withdrew his outstretched hand and let the last one fall. That’s the amazing man that is my twin.

*About his not liking surprises, I may tell you one day about how I woke him up with a well-placed fart a few inches from the middle of his face. Disgusting? Well, I loved it!

Heavy Load, Heavy Pants in the city of Accra

A young porter-boy on the Spintex Road conveys a bulky barrel full of something weighty on his clean-shaven head. The barrel, it’s the size of a compact car, and I’m wondering what’s in there when my eyes catch the droop of something. He’s trudging along with 2 other boys – one in front and the other behind. Whether it is pitiable penury or purloined prison or pop culture, I don’t know, but the purpose of the boy behind is to hoist up his sagging jumbo trousers which flop below his knees with every few steps.