My 10 Little Sins

Plinky asked me to list 10 things that made me happy. It took so long (and was so hard) to go beyond 3. I must have a sad life. Can you get 10? Here are mine below.

Lil Girl
Because she's good for me and understands me more than anybody else.

Writing
Because it is my conduit to my soul.

Being a Lawyer
Because it's made me come to know how society really works (and I can even break some of the rules safely).

Marion
Because she gets me around easily and, let's face it, she is sooooo fine!

Blogging
Because it's practice for writing and has brought me so many friends.

Court Rooms
Because of the witty battles and the permitted aggression.

Cuerpo de Mujer
Well Pablo Neruda said it all:



Body of woman, white hills, white thighs,

you look yourself like a world in your attitude of surrender.

My rough peasant's body digs in you

and makes the son leap from the depths of the earth.

Poetry
Because when you understand it, you understand life.

Swimming
Well, swimming, dance and sex are 3 manifestations of the same passion! (And wherever there's a pool, there's always a flirt!)

Chocolate
It releases that thing with that big scientific name that makes us light in the head and feel good about ourselves.

Prostitutes Don’t Have Friends

At wooded Cantonments in the City of Accra, near the landmark post office, I coasted round her wide-curve hips and on my friendless homeward route. I could not stop to enjoy her because she sold her time and curves. Social rules lie that she cannot be my friend.

The Hausa Koko Seller

On a cold, wet, Adenta night, the Hausa Koko seller!

'Land Guards' in the City of Accra

They fight on the land. They fight for the land. They maim on the land. They maim for the land. They kill on the land. They fight encroachers. They fight claimants. They fight the police. They fight the law. They fight (or snub) the courts. They are the law. They have the guns. They have the support in high places. They have the invisibility. They have the alibi. They have the anonymity. They have the land. They have the drugs. They have the greed. They have the back of the person with the money.

Send Me a Text Message

I’m often locked up in meetings-for-miles or at solemn places where I can’t receive calls. My phone is rigged to reject calls with a message - I’m engaged and can’t pick your call. Can you send a text please? Four times out of five the message alert doesn’t beep. It’s not because they’re loath to disturb (for they can irritate you with redials forever if you ignore the maiden ring). Is it that the calls are usually bagatelle? Or is it that people are just text-timid?

Could We Have Built This Differently?

Could there have been another way? Could there have been another way to build (in) Accra? A way to keep out all the rain and yet keep the rooms cool while it shone? Could we have avoided all the glass and still kept out the flies and birds? Could we have explored mud-brick, wood or something not as dense as concrete? Could we have built around our trees, avoiding the easier choice of scything them down? Could we have kept our water bodies for beauty and ecology? Could we have continued with planning when we finished with Tema? Was Ghana not always meant to look as green and neat as Akosombo? Could we? Couldn’t we?

Too Many Hair Stylists in the City of Accra

East Legon, Accra. But also Madina. And Kaneshie. And Dansoman. Every quarter of Accra is festooned in yellow, blue, green, white, etc of MVP, Revlon, UB and Dark & Lovely. The ads are draped on wooden shacks and wooden kiosks, sandcrete stalls and disused steel sea-freight containers. These are all hair stylists. There are puny hair-styling schools every forty paces and hair stylists every thirty. There cannot be half-enough heads to go all round for business. So what are they training the girls for?

The Creative Parts of Accra

It’s so easy to perch pretty in your tight spot in Accra and ‘enclose’ the economy in Ridge and Osu; Kaneshie and Makola. I’ve recently ‘touristed’ the dustier parts and scanned technology shacks with computers, musical instruments, cameras and boom mics couched behind mechanic yards or ‘chop bars’. Young men mixing audio and video and creating the modern music sounds of Ghana. I totally dig that.

The Empire Which Died in its Sleep

And so the greatest empire formed over the land now called Ghana was brought to a humiliating end without a single rifle shot. I don’t know what to make of it all; of the novel pacifism of its formerly warlike rulers; of the treachery of the ‘enemy’. I mean, Troy had its horse, Rome its hellish decadence, and Germany its ambitious war. But why did this empire not fight? Its name means “because of war”!

The Radio of a Night Watchman

The night watchman's job must be as lonely as death. How often do I see him striding in his give-away clothes with a transistor radio locked down on his shoulder in the oblivion of some overloud treble talk?