Bruising Breakups

Women in Ghana used to stay...in bad abusive relationships; much more than men. Now, it’s difficult to say who’s more likely to move on when the shit hits the fan. This week, we will explore the high divorce rate (especially among marriages under 5 years) and some of the more bizarre causes I have bumped into.

Facebook Tone

How often do I hear somebody say at a facebook page, “I knew that girl in school. She’s now become so fair!”

A ‘Shady’ Playing Field

A capricious count of the jackpot jobs, luxury lairs and comfy cars in Ghana are held down by men who will ace the clouded colour test. One questions what the companies are interviewing for, or who the banks are backing.

The Marilyn Effect?

When will some obliging ogre pull the plug on the many dumbass light-brown divas with thin talent in Nigerian and Ghanaian movies, and put us out of our misery? If they are in there for their dubious ‘good looks’, then please rip them out and splurge them instead on gloss magazine pages and still-picture exhibitions!

The League Table

In this (cool) coal-coloured country, most of the skilled, delicious, wonderful women, who have smoothly scaled the prized professional pinnacle, while harmonizing hundreds of happy homes, would have flunked the toxic tone test. But they excelled where it mattered most. Now, tone that!

2 of a Shameful Kind

A leading telecom company and an international bank in Ghana employ mostly manila-skinned demoiselles to man their public spaces, solely on that sepia note. These lamp posts wear ugly frowns from dawn to dusk, mistaken that it adds up to their alleged allure; pretending that no one’s figured out their facade. Enough!

Colourism – The Brown Paper Bag Blows about in Accra

This week, we will explore something of the concept of the brown paper bag in Accra. I do not have to explain the brown paper bag test, do I? It is quite a dangerous topic, but that is why I am so excited about exploring it with you.

P.S. For an explanation of "brown paper bag" please click here

A Realistic Path?

Weighing the raw arithmetic, more youth counting on football will end up at zero than with the goal of a millionaire’s mansion. The algebra is much more agreeable in the ‘schooled’ professions. The penalty for wrong choice is less risky.

The Socio-Economics of Sport

Spirited sport is a newfangled culture in economically emergent Ghana, which is much more than sport or leisure. It is meeting like-minded people. It is keeping the corporeal lines trim. It is staying out of teen trouble. It is breaking out of patrimonial poverty. It is a genuine, earnest profession. It is a status symbol for old money and nouveau riche.

The Dropouts Became Rich...And Changed Everything

Barely 10 years ago, professional sports were for directionless dropouts ... or was it? It was embarrassingly evident when our sports heroes (and villains) tickled the pretentious press with unintended meanings and cremated clichés. Michael Essien (not quite a dropout) et al sneaked away to play, as maladroit mercenaries, and rode back, as rich royalty. Now parents dole dollars to school soccer coaches to start kick-abouts for their kids after class. Nobody frowns on a young man spending all daylight moulding muscle and sharpening skill.

Sporting Culture

Dear Reader,

I was not going to blog this week for personal reasons. However, I miss writing, and need it for soul therapy – something swimming has failed to help with. Speaking of swimming, the theme for this week’s posts is Sports. What does it mean to different people in Ghana’s cities? Probably a very mundane theme, but I hope you will stick around.

The Kayayo Crusades

They issue southward into city markets to carry ‘donkey’ burdens. They digest daily disrespect, sleep savagely on shop-front streets, risk rampant rape and robbery, litter ‘loveless’ children, get kidnapped and transported back up north into forced marriages while still spring chicken; all for a daily tip below the subsistence level.

Banking on Bonking

Many good girls are mating with men just for the money. But that’s not the story. Many ‘benign’ boys are bedding big blokes just for the dough. They’d rather be loaded bisexuals than hungry heterosexuals. An older 'friend' introduces them to the unpleasant initiation; salved by the generous post-coital ‘payoff.’ It’s banking on bonking.

Wicked Armed Robber

It is not grinding poverty that is your wicked warrant. Your methodical mind and paramilitary planning could have banked you honest money. You are just lecherous, lazy, envious, cruel and, frankly, downright demented. If Poverty is a disease, then I curse your arse with the most virulent form!

Children of Bawaleshie

Eking an existence near Easy Street (that’s excessive East Legon), they gobble gruel of cornmeal for bare breakfast, kenkey and protein-pinched pepper dip for lunch and more cornmeal gruel for dead-man’s dinner. Fish is a fairytale feast! They know what milk means; they’ve never lapped milk.

The Prostitute

She stands scantily clad on the sunless streets of candied Cantonments or carnivorous Circle. She supplies live, natural delights for a fatuous fee. She possesses no other sustenance skills, and would have perished waiting on one or other gormless government or on nonchalant neighbours. Through her sensible skin trade, ten or so dependants can eat. Family infants are fed, clothed and schooled.

Poverty

Let’s talk about poverty, this week. My initial theme was “Poverty is a Crime”. I thought about it again, and since I could not put my finger on the ‘criminal’, I changed it to; to See Poverty, to have the ability to do something about it, but to do nothing, is a crime”. This picture was taken by Kevin Carter (poor man), who saw this and was constrained or tricked into not doing anything. The vulture was waiting for the child to die to pick at its flesh. The child was crawling to a UN food centre 1 kilometre away. It is not known if the child made it. Poverty!

(Picture: www.pulitzer.org)

Identity Symbols

There are rainbow recitals of the sundry symbols same-sexual-polarity people flaunt to recognise one another. They have hues and tones, rings in earmarked earlobes, foreknown fabric, etc. I wonder weakly – if they are ordinary people, why do they need special symbols?

Same Script, Different Cast

Jo has been obscurely ogling the delicious, dapper dandy in the pinstriped navy suit for a queer quarter hour. He’s quaffing whisky; whisky-tippling men – Jo’s great weakness. Jo doesn’t feel the faintest guilt for his lurid lust. After all, he’s just having sex with Kwame; they aren’t married; can’t be, right? Jo brings his mind back to the bar. He’s unable to approach the delectable drake. Somehow, one cannot approach the same sex the way one does the opposite sex.

Eden

Nana Ama lies wakeful at night. She made loyal love to her handy hubby, Kobby, just 30 minutes ago. He’s fast asleep and basking in some paradise at the back of beyond. But Nana Ama is flushing and longing for her little girlie, Sena. She’s only person who has made her come in her whole life. And Sena creates heaven every time they make love. She looks sadly upon the blissful face of sleeping Kobby. Then, she turns over and reaches for her phone.