The door flies agape, and the boor slimes in. He flings it the other way, and nearly plasters the face of the woman in his wake. He plods to the queue, and snakes along to the head where a little kid stands. On the next turn, he swats the infant aside with his left hand. While making his order, his ‘megaphone’ bangs out of his pocket. In three minutes, he broadcasts his side affair to the whole world. Then, he makes his order. He foot-sweeps the tiles on his way out. He flops into the car before he remembers the woman he came with. She’s barely sat down, when he shoots the car forward, cutting across a moving car beside him. His music blares out in doltish decibels. His smirk shows he’s proved how important he is.
Friday, December 13, 2013
That afternoon, he was uneasily installed behind a tiny, dark-wood desk. That morning, he’d chosen a chimera of a lime green shirt matched with a black necktie with dirty white stripes...or a white necktie with faded black stripes. If planned as a weapon to disorient me, then first blood to him. While he negotiated a small insurance claim with me, my eyes tried to negotiate a huge, yellow splotch out of his tie. Both negotiations failed. We agreed to come back another day. I then escaped from this semi-piebald-semi-skewbald circus.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Thursday, November 7, 2013
I guess padded bras and bums fall in this category – duty of disclosure. My office mates cannot agree on whether she should have told him. I’m talking about the ‘ugly’ Chinese woman who went under the knife, erased her past, loathsome life, and then became a wife. If there’s a duty, is it legal or moral? Office Female Miss Little Naughty says she didn’t owe him zilch. But she says he’d have owed her a duty of disclosure if he was a transsexual. How about hair implants? Or breast enlargement? Or replaced teeth? Liposuction? It can get absurd. Oh, bleached / toned / lightened / de-melanin-ed skin? Duty, anyone?
Thursday, July 25, 2013
This heading doesn't deserve 'funny'. But, then again, ha ha ha ha ha. Ha! Funny and disturbing at once. It is a joke. In more ways that one, it is. It would not happen in the United States. But it is threatening to happen ... in Ghana (where else, but God's own country of doltish pantomime?). Citizens stirred one morning to hear about a change. A monument named after the designer of our flag (God bless her flowery creativity) was about to be ... deflowered. The national hockey stadium was named after the hallowed matron and was well-received. Somebody ejected prematurely from their bed and decided to change that. It was going to be renamed after a much-loved ex president who died on the job. Never mind that the former 'High Street' and a few other monuments are already his in name (directly or indirectly). When the public rightly cried out, an anaemic explanation was offered: "We won't rename the entire stadium; only the brick and mortar; we will keep her name on the grass". Okay, so it is not really grass they play on, but you get my indignation. Rubbish, poppycock, claptrap! AND WHILE SHE IS STILL ALIVE! When people get hare-brain ideas (in a land of little light) and zoom off to announce it on the nearest working microphone, this is what happens.The president appears indigné aussi. There's said to be a summons to the presidency. How do you start to explain away such a cerebral non-event?
(Picture credit - www.edelgrass.com)
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Friday, June 21, 2013
Saturday, May 25, 2013
He's a cool-looking dude. I can almost see the silver spoon in his mouth. I can see the 'uppity' in his face and all, except he needs the 7-minute workout. He plonks on the seat next to me in business class and kicks off his shoes. Strike one. When the stewardess shuffles over to us, she sounds genuinely like she's from Southern Africa. She asks if I'd like some tea, hot chocolate, coffee or juice. I say juice. She says she has pineapple, apple and 'mengo'. I choose 'mengo'. Seat-mate has already snoozed off. She wakes him up and repeats the 'mengo' speech. Then he asks, 'Don't you have minerals?' Strike two. She's lost; I'm shocked. Were we in 1985? He goes on, 'Like Coke, Mirinda...' That's strike three. She shakes her head. He whines, 'I don't like those hot things.' So he picks pineapple.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
The sex was unlawful - sixteen year olds can't have legal sex in Ghana - and poorly executed (unprotected). I guess she didn't feel like a child then. The twins are lovely bundles of joy as children should be, except they're just one bundle! Suddenly their mother is a child; not mature enough to accept other children (her children) as they are. Then, again, I wonder if I'd be different.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Is there still such a thing as stirring early at 7 am in Accra? The traffic has wrought wise owls of us all. We've had to push forward leave-nest time by 15 minutes every 6 months for the past 10 years. Now I wake up at silly-goose hour. The city flies the coop when a subway is suggested, and we're all chicken-livered at the idea of bicycles. But why should we ride and be a sitting duck for the trotro-bus to peck our limbs off? They swoop around the city as the crow flies. By the time the city authorities get their ducks in one row, the early-bird worm will wriggle out at 2 am.