Ok, I know that sometimes (maybe slightly more often than sometimes) I can drip pure vitriol about certain people. Occasionally its unjustified. But this isn't. This is the BNP. This is Nick Griffin. Scum of the earth type personality, etc. etc...I'm sure you understand where I am going with this...

(This was written about a month ago in the run up to my sister's wedding...I'm only really now getting the chance to post...there will be a few of these. Soz)

Sankofa has always (well at least ever since I have known her) made it very clear that a big church wedding and the surrounding bru-ha-ha is not for her. And I think there have always been parts of me that agree with this stance; but still I cling to (my?) dreams of a big white wedding. Perfect in every way. With me and the hubby smiling at the fore.

As one of those children who seemed to always fall into the (mis)fortune of being a flower girl, I thought I had seen it all, in terms of the tears, tantrums and abject misery that are behind the scenes of some of the weddings I have been involved in.

However, as an adult what you see is WORSE. My sister is in the process of organising her wedding. She and her hubby-to-be thought it would be a bright idea to get married in KUMASI (Ashanti region, Ghana)...even though her and her hubby are based in EDINBURGH...mum lives in LONDON. Well...all I can say is they had a dream. Hmmmm...good luck to them! We are finally in Kumasi with two weeks to go; hubby to be is still not here. At this point, I'd sooner pack up and head home. It's the biggest nightmare you could imagine. I'm talking a cold war between the parental units, an overly determined wedding planner with illusions of grandeur, the rainy season, a travel agent under investigation for fraud and underselling tickets, wedding invitations which do not name the groom spelt correctly, bridesmaid dresses having to be re-done, flower girls BY FORCE, big dreams and an ever decreasing pot of money...oh...and money grabbing distant relatives. JOY. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. And I would like to throttle the sister. She keeps crying. It's doing my head in. I'd like to slap her. HARD. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

By this point I'm in such firm agreement with Sankofa. Allow this long nonsense. I'm having a registry wedding. KMFT.

http://bnp.org.uk/2010/04/bnp-legal-officer-lays-criminal-charge-after-ghanaian-origin-rap-singer-urges-murder-of-nick-griffin-2/

This is just a quick one but I just saw a couple of articles on BBC that made me "hmm" a little. First up is a man I'm tempted to call an idiot. Hey it's just my opinion! Anyway, this lovely gentleman from our esteemed country has decided to name his son Silvio Berlusconi. O_O Really? You're going to name your child after the Prime Minister of a country with, quite frankly, dodgy immigration policies (particularly towards Africans) and a country where one can find signs claiming "There are no black Italians" at football games? This man who is a walking joke to most people (including Italians). This is a man who is more known for calling Obama "suntanned" and his numerous plastic surgeries than anything actually worthwhile. This is a man, who after a devastating earthquake in Abruzzo region of Italy last year, advised the homeless survivors to treat their plight as a "camping weekend". This is a man who has happily admitted that Italian deportation centres are no better than concentration camps. I could go on an on about Berlusconi's numerous faults but then I would just get more depressed. No wonder somebody clocked him one.

This was on the front page of the news section btw. I just think it's sad that this is the second time in a few months that I've seen Ghana mentioned on the front page of the BBC news website. The first time for a bogus earthquake, and the second time for this nonsense. Makes you wonder....

Here's an excerpt from the article:

A Ghanaian immigrant to Italy has named his son after Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, despite his government's tough policy on immigration.

Anthony Boahene told an Italian newspaper: "I like the way Berlusconi talks, the way he moves."

Asked about Mr Berlusconi's tough stance on immigration, he said: "It's fine, laws need to be observed."

Mr Boahene said he would like his son Silvio to study politics and to become president of Ghana or Italy.

 Second up is this story about a recall on baby slings in America and Canada. I used to love baby slings and I remember eagerly waiting for Friday's Afro to drop mini-Friday's Afro just so I could carry him in a sling! Then one day I realised that baby slings are just posh versions of this:
End of story.

Who here is sick and tired of other people's ignorant and misinformed ideas of Africa? Well, you are not the only one.

In the weeks leading up to my holiday in Ghana, I was hit by Ghana-fever and I couldn't stop talking about it. I drove everyone crazy with Ghana this and Ghana that. After ten years since my last holiday in the Land of Gold, a trip back to the motherland was well over due. So you can imagine my excitement once I had actually paid for my ticket. I remember a few weeks before my holiday in Ghana, I was at work when a dress in the stock room, waiting to be marked down and placed on the sale rack, caught my eye.

Mmm, I thought. This dress is not actually that bad. In fact, it will go down nicely in Ghana. It's a good price too, and if you take away the staff discount...by this time I was grinning from ear to ear.

So after my shift, I took the dress to my manager so I could buy it. Needless to say, she wasn't as enthusiastic about my decision to buy the dress. "Why are you buying this god-awful dress?" she asked.
"Cos, I like it", I was determined to stand my ground. "Plus, it will be perfect for clubbing in Ghana". She responded by giving me a puzzled look and saying "are there clubs in Ghana? I thought it was just mud huts and fig leaves".



Now, think about all the times someone has said something to piss you off, all the times someone has treated you like rubbish, and all the times you were enraged by something you saw. How did you feel? Well, that was exactly how I felt at that moment.

I knew there and then that what I really wanted to say to her could cost me my job, so instead, I took a deep breath and said, "why don't you educate yourself, so you don't say something like that again". Then it occurred to me, that all the images had seen and all the stories she had ever heard about Africa were of poverty, corruption, war and death. She had probably never been told that Africa was the richest land in natural resources, or that the world's oldest university is in Egypt. The story she had heard of Africa was the one not told by its own people. But the one that she had been told by the history books and by the media. "Anyway, it's not your fault", I muttered under my breath.

That is the danger of a single story. When somebody tells your story for you, and you have no say in how it is told, the truth becomes distorted. Let me leave you a clip of Chimamanda Adichie , the author of Purple Hibiscus and Half of a Yellow Sun. In it, she explains the danger of a single story in a more elaborate way. It's a bit long, but please click on the title of this post, which will lead you to the clip, and watch it to the end. There is a lot to be learnt.

Whilst at the Accra Mall last week, I decided to open an account at the Barclay's bank there. I have a Barclay's account in London too so it just seemed like common sense. Unfortunately, I didn't have all my relevant information I needed to finish opening my account there and then so the bank employee made me fill out the application form and I promised to return in a few days with all my supporting documents. The gentleman assured me that this would be no problem at all and that he was looking forward to seeing me in a few days. I really didn't want to be one of those people who's constantly comparing Ghana with what I've come to know but DAMN! I just had to share some of the different banking practices between my home country and my adopted country(ies).

When I returned two days later in order to finish opening the account, I went into the bank looking for a "personal banker" kiosk or office of some sort. Instead, there was a man and a woman sitting side by side in front of their computers right next to the long line for the telllers. Fortunately for me, there was no queue for the "personal bankers" when I entered so the man immediately summoned me over. Now this was a different man from the one I had seen previously and after searching for my application for fifteen minutes, he told me to start filling out another one whilst he continued to look for the one I had filled out earlier. "Why continue to search for it if you're still going to make me fill out another form?" was the thought that immediately popped into my head, however, I chose not to verbalise that thought and dutifully began to fill in the form.

So while I was filling out the form which asks personal questions like my name, address, telephone number, income, etc. etc., a man and woman sat on either side of me. They were close, like shoulder-to-shoulder close, and the woman happily began to read over my shoulder. I stopped writing and stared at her with a bemused look on my face. She merely grinned at me and continued to peruse my application like she was checking for spelling mistakes. She then asked the banker to check her account balance for her and he did so within plain view of myself.

While the banker was "processing" my new application form, he stopped to deal with at least 6 other customers, with no semblance of privacy,  so it took exactly 47 minutes (I checked) for my account to be opened. I was then told that I would get a whopping 10 free cashpoint withdrawals with the opening of my account (!). The process took even longer because the banker insisted on flirting heavily with every woman that approached the desk- myself included.

So it was a great relief when I finally left the bank clutching my brand new ATM card, vowing never to return until absolutely necessary. Fastforward to the next day and I receive a call on my phone from a number I don't recognise. I tentatively answer the call:

Banker: "Good afternoon Sankofa. How are you today?"
Sankofa: "Fine thank you.Um who is this please?"
Banker: "It's me from the bank! Have you forgotten me already?"
Sankofa: "Erm... is there any trouble with my account?"
Banker: "Oh not at all, I just wanted to call and say hello. Since you seemed to be in a rush yesterday, I thought we could talk today."
Sankofa: ".........."
Banker: "Hello? Are you there?"
Sankofa: "You know what? I'm a little busy at the moment so I'm going to have to talk to you later" (CLICK!)

I could hardly believe my ears. This man essentially steals my telephone number from a "confidential" application form and he expects me to be happy to hear from him? This was compounded by the fact that this was the second time in a week this had happened to me. A worker at MTN also decided it would be okay to "steal" my number whilst apparently "fixing" my phone for me. And to rub salt in the wound, the damn phone still wouldn't connect to the internet! Is telephone number theft the norm nowadays?


Image source

You know, it's one thing to hear about a phenomenon, but nothing beats experiencing the real thing. Friends who had recently returned from Ghana had complained incessantly about the rise and rise of the LAFA. Huh? That was my initial reaction too. It stands for "Locally Acquired Foreign Accent". You see, as part of some Ghanaians' haste to embrace anything and everything foreign, the beautiful Ghanaian accent has fallen victim to tragic butchering. As a linguist (3 years of uni is worth it just to be able to say that. Yay me! Lol), I'm well aware of the fluidity of accents and how easy they adapt and merge. However, there is a patent difference between somebody who has lived in a different culture and has therefore adopted (consciously or unconsciously) the local accent, and a person who has never stepped foot outside the country for any length of time.

I remember when we we in our teens, Friday's Afro and I would call this an "Aferican" accent and it's sad to see the phenomenon has not died out but seems to be under going some kind of revival. Originally the property of the Ashanti "bogas", the LAFA is thriving everywhere. In my experience, most Ghanaians speak excellent English but I can't count the amount of times I've heard people apologising for their English merely because they don't possess some kind of foreign accent. What is so special about a foreign accent? What are the thought processes that lead a person to think it's normal to fake an accent? Can anybody out there enlighten me?

On the flipside, since my arrival in Ghana, I've become a victim of what I call "accent-ism". I've been introduced to people who are perfectly pleasant until I open my mouth. The English accent provokes a total and complete shut down in pleasantries. Often the person will adopt a look suggesting they have just smelled something bad (it's not my armpits, I checked...) and even Stevie Wonder can see the "wo ye too-known" look that passes across the face. I'm by no means suggesting that everybody has been like this but I'm beginning to see that the accent war goes both ways. Now what kind of fuckeries is that?

To see a fantastic LAFA at work, check out the link below. You have been warned...
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=100986489923283

Now what experiences of the LAFA or accent-ism have you experienced?

I was having a conversation recently with Afrocentric and Nsoromma about travel in London and it was interesting to say the least. Travel in London has the potential to be soul-destroying or life-affirming. Hopefully, it'll lean towards the latter if you take note of some of these general observations. Now place your tongue firmly in cheek and remember these the next time you venture out with your (increasingly expensive) travelcard!

1. If there are empty seats available anywhere on the bus/ tube/ train, DO NOT SIT NEXT TO ME! You have just given your thanks to God above when you get on a half-empty tube/ train carriage or bus when a leering man decides to park himself right next to you. Never mind the 15 other empty seats available. It's Boris Johnson's law that somebody must sit uncomfortably close to you, stinking of stale cigarettes, whilst trying to rub himself against you. With that goes your 27 minutes of thinking up what excuse you're going to give work about why you're late (again), instead, begins the game of how far away you can edge away from the person whilst they're trying to physically sit on your lap....

2. It is not proper transport etiquette to stare at your fellow passengers during the daily rush hour. Yes we're a city of people watchers but one must be subtle with it. So when the 6"3 man wearing a tartan dress, bovver boots, and sporting acid pink hair steps onto the Northern line at Camden, feel free to stare at him all you like but only via the reflection of the windows! I can't vouch for your safety once the words that strike fear into every Londoner's heart are uttered: "What you looking at?!"

3. One must remember that the South Londoner is a different breed of Londoner, in particular those that hail from the South Eastern region. Eye contact is seen in one of two ways: a declaration of war, or an indication of willingness to marry a person. A personal music player and an engrossing book are your only friends in this part of town.

4. There's no point running for the bus. Really. Most bus drivers take malicious pleasure in watching you frantically waving at them to stop via their side mirrors. 171 bus drivers in particular take great enjoyment in waiting until you're a a mere metre away from the stop and then zooming away into traffic with enough skills to rival Jenson Button. If you're lucky and a driver takes pity on you, by the time you pant and heave your way onto the bus winded by the whole 20 metres you had to run, the hostile stares of your fellow passengers will be enough to ruin your morning. They'll have to wait a whole 36 seconds as you simultaneously hunt for your Oyster card (you probably left it on the kitchen table) whilst trying not to display just how unfit you really are.

These are just some of the few recurring travel observations we made. How's travel different where you live?

Image Source

Ummm, it's late and I really want to go to bed but I am up in arms!

Akwaaba! This is the word on every Ghanaian's lips as a display of how welcome you are in their territory. Touching down in Kotoka International Airport for the first time in ten years presented us with quite an unforgettable akwaaba experience.

Firstly, after ten hours on the plane - yes ten, not the promised six - the aeroplane's wheels finally hit Ghanaian soil, (note to self: Ghanaians are seldom on schedule) and we were ready to begin our holiday in the Gateway to Africa. Or were we?

What is a Ghanaianism? In my definition, a Ghanaianism is that peculiar thing, a way of thinking, a type of methodology which makes sense to nobody else except for Ghanaians. At Kotoka International, we were hit by an obstacle course of Ghanaianisms. Here goes...

Ghanaianism no. 1: Immigration. The immigration officers were catching a feeling off me and Keera. Yes I tell you, those officers get the first pick of women who enter the country. They greeted us with  "are you married?" while nonchalantly looking over our passports. I could be carrying Michael Jackson's passport for all they cared!

Ghanaianism no. 2: After immigration control, we were immediately faced with a big Akwaaba sign which also read, "Ghana does not welcome paedophiles and other sexual deviants". I learned right there and then that Ghanaians do not beat about the bush.

Ghanaiansm no. 3: Collecting our luggage from the circular conveyor belt was a task in itself. If I'm standing in a spot trying to get my bag, why cut in front of me without saying "excuse me" first, especially when your bag is nowhere near where I am standing? Silly me for thinking some politeness principles were universal! 

Ghanaianism no. 4: One word says it all. CUSTOMS. We were ordered to open our suitcases for inspection. "What are these things for?" we were asked.  "My family" responded I. "Are you sure?" Well, duh! Then he asks again, "what are these things for?" (By this time, I was getting mildly annoyed, but in hindsight, we did have the whole world and its mother in there. I'm talking suits, bags, tins of tuna, ipods etc. Note to self: if you are Ghanaian, NEVER EVER EVER tell your family you are travelling to Ghana. They will definitely make sure that all 46 kilos of your baggage allowance and your hand luggage is filled up!) Anyway, after being asked for the third time what the things in my suitcase were for, I 'fessed up, "half are gifts and the other half will be sold in my auntie's shop".  Ooops! "You have to pay duty then", he replied coolly. Really? I actually though he was joking. "Come on Keera, let's go". I later found out that Mr. Officer was far from joking, and had just let us go without paying out of good will.

Ghanaianism no. 5: Just when we thought escape to freedom could actually be a possibility, we were slapped by another obstacle in this long obstacle course. The next thing is the official border, which once crossed meant you were officially in the Republic of Ghana. Keera was able to step over the border - no questions asked. But me on the other hand, yes, you guessed it, was stopped. "You don't have baggage stickers on your suitcases" he offered. Well duh! They only got ripped off by Mr. Customs when he insisted on opening our suitcases!! (These stickers, which are put on your bags from London have a number. The same number is stuck onto your boarding pass, so when you arrive, the sticker helps to identify you with your bag.) I was pissed by this time. My general mindset was: Great! my light skinned friend gets authorisation to cross over. Well excuse me for having black skin! But it turned out that I got stopped because I was pushing the trolley stacked high with our suitcases, while Miss Yellow Skin was only carrying our two hand luggages. 

Ghanaianism no. 6: Last but not least, Ghanaianism no. 6 cracks me up the most. Imagine workers, not employed by the airport, but  self appointed, who busy themselves with loading your bags into your waiting car. I was wondering why they were being so helpful, until they said to us "tip us" (tr. pay us) Paaaahaaa!! talk about self employed! Well, needless to say, they quickly scuttled away when I replied "ask my uncle".

What can I say? after all this is Ghana, the Gateway to Africa!

After visiting Pen Powder's blog the other night, I started thinking (yet again) about the plight of mother Africa as a whole. How can the most resource rich continent be so abjectly poor, governed by dynasties of despots who reinforce the illegitimate actions of their fellow tyrannical despots through lavish gifts the likes of which most of their countrymen will never see? I know it's nothing new and has been going on since we started to gain our independence but it came upon me again, and I was enraged (you will start to see a pattern with me, I get enraged and then I feel you must know about it! Sorry!).

When I was still in school and the term 'third-world country' was still politically correct (if you don't know, it is no more, instead we now have LEDCs - Less Economically Developed Countries - get to know!) I learnt that Africa was the ONLY continent on God's good earth that was 100% third-world. Yes, people the WHOLE thing including the likes of Egypt and South Africa, who were not classed second-world like Brazil was (the mind boggles...). Anyhoo...after President Obama (Omama) came to Ghana and spoke to the people about Africa solving her own problems many Africans were outraged. How can our brother come and say such things to us? Does he not realise that our continent was ravaged and pillaged by the colonial powers and they still have us in chains?

Now, don't get me wrong I have sympathies with the neo-colonial arguments. There is barely anywhere in Africa you can look without seeing American, British or French neo-colonialism, you only have to look at Liberia, Angola or Sierra Leone (to name a few) to be slapped in the face with it. And in much the same way that African-Americans can still complain about the effects of slavery crippling their people the same can be said of Africa's neo-colonialism.

However, just like I feel African-Americans use slavery as an all-encompassing excuse for social degradation and low achievement so do Africans. Firstly, Obama is your brother? Really?!?!?! His Dad originated from Kenya, he is half-white and fully American, is it so surprising that he came out with that view? Think about it, as a high-achieving black American I'm sure he's heard all the complaints about 'the white man keeping us down' and has decided that a lot of the time they are excuses. But just as the whole 'Cambridge officer acted stupidly' incident indicated, he is not unaware of what black people face in his country. In the same way with his connection to Africa, I doubt he is unaware of how thoroughly his country has colonised his father's continent.

However, he did see it as an excuse for Africa to blame their plight on other people and I think to some degree he is right. We are all too ready to blame other people for our problems, while we are in in a position to do something about it. I'm a firm believer that its the little things that we do which create the stage and pave the way for bigger movements and change. This is no less the case when we are dealing with the mammoth task of making out continent more self-sufficient. Tell me how on earth can we complain about Africa begging for handout's when on a local level we perpetuate the very same type of behaviour. Are we (as in Africans abroad) not in anyway responsible for this 'give me, I want, I need, you owe me' attitude when many of us are killing ourselves over here to feed and clothe those who are more than capable of doing it themselves?

Now before I am inundated with personal attacks about not understanding poverty, blah-de-blah, consider...I know a family of six living in a teeny, tiny flat, in a bad area who are really struggling for basics. A 2 bed flat and one of the rooms is a half room really, can't make ends meet and merely existing exacerbates their poverty. Yet they are in abrokyrie (tr. abroad) and so life is great? Hmmm, so supporting 8, 9 people in Ghana who claim to want need, etc. new laptops and mobile phones to show off with is understandable? Repeatedly sending 'school fees' only to be told school fees have not been paid and now are desperately owing or else poor little Kojo can't finish school? They do not live in shoddy housing and many do not work because abrokyrie will provide? Consider, my mother's younger sister in Ghana has four kids and a husband, a shop my mum got for her and a house abrokyrie money built for her. All her children will be able to go to school to the highest level. But she doesn't work and yet when she needs things and abrokyrie should provide?

If we do not stop such fuckeries on a local level then Africa will never stop it on an international scale either. Since cutting off my Aunty's requests for 'needs', the woman has been slowly learning self-sufficiency. It's long, painful and at time she makes damn silly decisions but she must make them in order to grow.

So do you agree that:

• We (as in Africans abroad) are in part responsible for this 'give me, I want, I need, you owe me' attitude?
• Effecting a change in abrokyrie-relatives-back-home dependency will benefit our continent?

Image Credits: www.travelblog.org/africa/

I can't believe I'm actually writing this post. I am a life-long, die-hard Liverpool fan and everybody knows that Arsenal is the team I hate most in this world (followed closely by Manchester United). I also have no particular feelings either way or another for Manchester City. However, I've been reading/ hearing all sorts of rubbish today about Adebayor's behaviour towards Arsenal today and I thought I'd throw in my two cents.

Quick recap of the background story before the game today:

Emanuel Adebayor just signed for Man City from his former club Arsenal this summer after publicly declaring his desire to leave said club. Basically Adebayor said he would like to play for AC Milan because he felt as though he was being treated unfairly at Arsenal and this abviously did not help to endear him to the Arsenal fans who had already turned against him. The deal with AC Milan fell through but he eventually ended signing for Man City at terms that were more than agreeable to both clubs.

Ok, now keep in mind that the Arsenal fans have given this man all kinds of abuse both before and after her expressed a desire to leave the club. One "fan" even attacked him at an airport amidst accusations of his laziness whilst at the club. Now some may argue that this abuse was/ is warranted given his outspoken declarations against Arsenal. Fair enough. However, I feel that if one can dish it out, one must be able to take it too.

This brings me to today and Arsenal vs. Man City. Now keep in mind that this game has been hyped up to no end and the entire footballing world is waiting with bated breath to see how Adebayor will handle himself against his former club. Footballing wise, Adebayor thrives under the pressure and scores a goal against his former team-mates. In celebration, Adebayor runs to the Arsenal fans, who have been booing him incessantly throughout the match, and slides on his knees, arms held out in jubilation. This clearly riles up the Arsenal fans who respond by hurling any available missile at him. In a post-match interview, Adebayor apologises (without any urging) to the Arsenal fans he offended and admits that his emotions ran away with him.

Now this is football. Arsenal fans have been giving this man stick for months now, booing his every touch, hurling insults etc. etc. and now they want to get up in arms when he decides to rub their noses in it a little? Like I said, don't dish it out if you can't take it. I've heard criticisms bemoaning the fact that as a professional football player, he is a role model to kids and blah blah blah. Please! He's a mere man who happens to be a good football player. If you're looking to a random stranger to be a role model to your children, may I kindly suggest that there is something quite wrong with you? These same people accusing him of being a poor role model, are the same people who today, displayed such acts of classlessness by throwing missiles at him, spitting, etc. etc. Yeah, great role model you are.

Now after all this, I have to admit that I don't even like Adebayor. The man is a whiner and you all know how I feel about grown men whining.... His actions towards his former team-mate Robin van Persie were questionable at best and each angle of the video replay tells a different story as to whether he deliberately stamped on his face. However, I have to say that I really felt Adebayor today. Like him or not, his reaction after scoring that goal made me very very happy inside.

Agree? Disagree? Let me know in the comments!

Image courtesy of BBC Sports

Remember when you were in school and had to have a roll call in the mornings before classes and in the afternoon after lunch? You always knew when your name was coming because you got "the pause". In the interest of anonymity (lol) let's pretend my name is a typical Asante one like Nana Owusu-Mensah. You would be sitting in registration:

3 out of the 4 members of this blog graduated with BAs in the last couple of weeks and an MA is expected to be gained by September. Hey, we're not just pretty faces! However, after 3 (or 4) years of stress and wishing you were doing anything else apart from this "stupid" degree, once you get to walk across that stage as they call your name, I'm only left with one question: Now What? The world is supposed to be our playground but some people are determined to make that playground consist of only a swingset. One of us (who shall remain nameless) was told "well done. Now it's either marriage or your masters. Whichever comes first is up to you"! Woooooooow. Talk about not being able to enjoy the moment. I personally want to do my masters next year but I was having trouble deciding what courses to think about applying for when my mother insisted an MBA was the only way to go. This is all regardless of the fact that I've never once expressed any kind of interest in business administration and my degree is in English Lit. and Linguistics! Look I wouldn't mind being rich just like the next person but I'd rather be happy and it's clear where my passion lies and an MBA is definitely not it!

Another one of our esteemed writing team was also told to get her masters as soon as possible because otherwise she would be "wasting her years". This was to a 22 year old btw. It's also important to remember that all this "advice" came from people without degrees themselves. What is it that makes it so tempting for so-called "uncles", "aunties", and the like to make you a vessel for their unfulfilled dreams? We're in an economic recession and it's depressing enough to think that you're never gonna get a job without the pressure to incur even more debt doing a degree you have no interest in. Yes I know that everybody and their mum has a degree(s) these days but damn, can we get even a few weeks to enjoy it before reality kicks in? It isn't too much to ask it it?

How come some people just don't know when to quit?

There are people in my life who I could swear were created for the sole purpose of aggravating and upsetting me. It's a conceited, the-whole-world-revolves-around-me view but really, at times like this I'm certain I am right! Let me throw out a word of warning to the wise. I told you so is the single most f********ing annoying thing you can say to me!!!!!!!! Because by the time you've said it I'd have already apologised, therefore, I'm only ever gonna think you are deliberately trying to piss me off. Or else why do it?

Also, how come some people can totally block out what you say to them and expect you to listen to all the minute details of their drear and frankly miserable life? Talking to some people is literally like talking to a brick wall. They repeat the same nonsense they said 20 seconds earlier with no hint or suggestion that they even heard what you had said to them. That's not a conversation; it's a frigging soliloquy so if you want just repeat your nonsense over and over DO NOT expect me to want to listen. What you should expect is that it will over a period of time start to really annoy me and I'll either block YOU out or tell you to shut the f***** up!

Also, I'm of a somewhat, erhm, fiery temperament. If you shout at me chances are 9 ¾ times out of 10 I will bloody shout back. So don't shout, thanks. Muchos Gracias. So if you have known me for a number of years, you will know that I WILL shout back so if you shout at me you are looking for it. If I then give it to you WHY THE HELL ARE YOU COMPLAINING?!?!?!

Look, I'm well aware that it's a whole 'Ghanaian respect' thing that says that you should stand like a bloody mute and take abuse from your 'seniors'. I'm still at a loss as to why the fact that your parents got freaky before mine can make someone think I'll roll over and take the bullshit. But I try, I really do then the South-London-Black-Bitch in me kicks in after...ooo, let's say 10 minutes. I think I do well. TEN BLOODY MINUTES. After that I think I'm well within my rights to tell you to stick it where the sun don't shine.

Rant, over....

Thanx guys, it's been real therapeutic....lol...

Enraged,

Nsoromma...Child of the Heavens

N.B. Reading this back has been kind of therapeutic. I feel calmer and I'm actually laughing at what I wrote. I even feel like apologising, but then the problem with apologising that I've always had (as in seriously from childhood), is that when you apologise the other person half the time still doesn't see the wrong they have done. They feel vindicated and oh-so-right, which means that they are still gonna make me scream...grrr, perhaps Nsoromma need to take a chill pill!

I recently decided (as in a few seconds ago...literally) to do a regular(ish) post on various things that cross my mind. Ok...let me rephrase, on the things that give me cause to pause and think a little bit (such a rare occurrence in the aftermath of the mental exam mush that has currently replaced my brain). So here's the first of many of my 'food for thought's: music.

Music is such a therapeutic thing for me...as is writing sometimes. The music I listen to can set my mood, help heal my wounds, make them worse or piss me off. At times I've been really surprised, shocked even at my personal reaction to music and that of other people to the same medium. For those who you who have never heard of it or never watched it you should check out The Truth Behind Hip-Hop, something I first watched at a youth retreat with my church when I was about 18. It had a real impact on me and it's something I have never forgotten. I threw away ALL of my 300-odd ORIGINAL CD's (...this was pre-mp3 downloads, lols...) and though I felt spiritually cleansed, IT HURT. A lot. I'm such a Nas and 2Pac fan...and Outkast...and Busta...and DMX...damn that HURT! But I felt it was all for the greater good, I mean it's not just the influence of Hip Hop, it's also the belief's that inspire many Neo-Soul musicians, the explicitness of Ragga and the longing and lustfulness often in R&B...even love songs. I was not a new Christian when I watched the DVDs but I would be a liar if I did not acknowledge that they opened my eyes.

Now what human being is not moved by music? NO ONE (as far as I'm concerned, but feel free to comment and challenge me at the end of my post). However as a hip hop head I noticed discrepancies and falsehoods in some of the preacher's (G Craige Lewis of EX ministries) claims and the student of politics and school debating champion that I was, these things for me just undermine some of the evident truths in his words. A grand debate wages as to whether G Craige Lewis is of God, or exploiting a Godly message for personal gain to the detriment of the Christian community. I believe the later. COMMON SENSE can tell you that much of the music is not good for our very souls and encourages and supports behaviour in us that contradicts much of our base belief's and I think that is true whichever faith you (do or do not) follow. I applaud the Preacher for perhaps reminding me of the importance of music in inducing emotions but I'll take much else of what he says with a MASSIVE chunk (not a grain-o, chunk) of salt. I believe he was sent to give me a message and my bible and the holy spirit in me exists to cross check what I hear, WHEREVER I hear it.

I have much of my old music back. I even have more than I had before. BUT...I thank God for the spirit of discernment, I feel that now I veer away from the tracks I feel can be emotionally damaging to me and do not feel bad listening to empowering tracks made by 'secular' artists. I implore you all...BE AWARE OF WHAT IT IS YOU LISTEN TO...be it Hip-hop, Hip-life, Ragga, Highlife, R&B, Neo-Soul, whatever, how it rests with your soul is a good indicator of how it may benefit you. The preacher is correct when he says you don't know what influences some of these artists, we really don't but neither does he. It is up to GOD to judge the hearts of men (and the subsequent heart they used to compose the music), I don't presume to label someone a believer or a non-believer because they wear their jeans low or listen to rock music or go raving, how is that my business? that's between them and their God. So I'll take the music as it comes, when I'm sad and I just need to revel in it, embrace it and move on I will listen to some Mary J.! When I feel militant, 2Pac still does the trick and when that foolish boy is acting up I agree with Erykah that he'd better Call Tyrone! But I just need to be aware that when I need to move on from my misery I should switch from Roses to Just Fine. Or that after being thoroughly pissed-off I should perhaps not listen to They Don't Give A Fuck About Us or When We Ride On Our Enemies and focus on Keep Ya Head Up. When I'm confused what's wrong with Lord Give Me A Sign? Me and D both need a sign, we all struggle!

Here are some excerpts from 2Pac – Better Days:

'Time to question our lifestyle, look how we live
Smokin weed like it ain't no thang, so even kids
wanna try now, they lie down and get ran through
Nobody watched 'em clockin the evil man do'

'I'd love to see the block in peace
With no more dealers and crooked cops, the only way to stop the beast
And only we can change
It's up to us to clean up the streets, it ain't the same
Too many murders, too many funerals and too many tears
Just seen another brother buried plus I'd known him for years
Passed by his family, but what could I say?
Keep yo' head up and try to keep the faith
And pray for better days'

No matter what he believed, what sins he committed, I don't know but no one can convince me that that can ever be at odds with my God!

Peace xXx

Nsoromma...Child of the Heavens

I'll leave you with DMX's Lord Give Me A Sign:

'No weapon formed against me shall prosper

For this is the heritage of the servants of the Lord
In the name of Jesus
Lord give me a sign
Amen'

Never mind everything happening for a reason. Some things are just not fair. These are my exact sentiments towards the nonsense Sankofa and I had to go through today. I mean, today started off well: breakfast at Whetherspoons in the morning, followed by church - and we still managed to make it sort of on time to church.
The f**keries began after the service though, when a "distinguished gentleman" decided to pay me a back handed compliment about my bag. Trust me, Sunday's EastEnders omnibus couldn't touch the drama that goes on in church.
Anyway, let's get to the point: aside from my phone taking a hard fall from my pocket and breaking into pieces while I was running for the bus 185, the afternoon simply couldn't get worse.
We did make it on the 185 (thanks for asking), and got off at Lewisham. While still recovering from our conversation with the "distinguished gentleman", we decided to take a trip to Sainsbury's. We were both fed up and annoyed, not to mention the weather being temperamental today. So we got into Sainsbury's and the first thing Sankofa reached for was a drink to calm her nerves. We got carried away in the shop, trying to find popcorn, biscuits and drinks etc. etc. (Did I mention we were en route to the cinema?) Anyway, we finally got it together, paid and headed out of the shop.

What do you think happened next?

We walked out, and practically got jumped on by a fat bele security guard. "Did you pay for evritin?", he asked in his thick naija accent.

"yeah, you wanna check our bags?", you know that was us in our south london, bad gyal accents.

"you took this drink, drank it in our shop, and dumped the bottle without paying for it". Yes, you guessed it! The drink Sankofa so badly needed when we first arrived in the shop.

"would you like to follow me , girls".

He was so smug. Do you think he cared it was a mistake? Did he even want to listen to the simple explanation? Did he give a s**t that we were with my three younger sisters?

NO, NO, NO!!!

We were proved right in the end, and Sankofa paid for her drink afterwards, but it's still unfair. Big bele was clearly judging us by his own standards. Don't you just hate it when someone accuses you of something you never did and refuses to listen to what you have to say? Or when they know they are in the wrong but won't admit it because they are trying to save face? Grrrr!!! It's so annoying.

Hi people. How have you all been? It has been a while, hasn't it? For those of you who have been doing exams, how did they go? If you have not yet finished, well good luck with the rest. But if like me, you have kissed good bye to the wonderful world of academia, you are probably findng ways to fill your time. I decided to fill some time on Friday night, by going to see the U.K. premier of the Ghanaian film, The Perfect Picture, at the Odeon Cinema in Surrey Quays. Me and my girls enjoyed the film - it was entertaining from beginning to end. The story line wasn't your cliché story of wicked step mothers, witch doctors and women who can't have babies.
Unfortunately, the film was not the highlight of the evening. Bad time keeping and organisation stole the spotlight. Firstly, the (very helpful) organisors of the film premier sent me a list on facebook two weeks before the screening of the the ticket outlets that would be selling the £10 tickets. I was enthused to find that there were two outlets down the road from me. You can imagine my dismay then when I went into one of the shops, three days before the screening, only for the shop owner to tell me, "sorry, I don't have any tickets. My shop is on the list but I don't know anything about this film premier". And as for the second shop - let's just say the shop owner up and left one day, and is still nowhere to be found, not even to sell me my tickets.
Anyway, by stroke of luck, divine intervention or just pure coinsidence, me and my girls got our tickets (which were apparently sold out - again, according to the helpful orgnisors) about four hours before the movie was due to start.
So, after a nine hour shift at work on Friday night I knew I had to sprint, or even better, fly accross the underground network, from Canary Wharf to Canada Square to make it for the film (which was to start at 9pm prompt - so said the lovely organisors).
After meeting up with the girls, we get to Surrey Quays cinema at 9.10pm (Oh my gosh, have we made it on time? Has the film started yet? What if they don't let us in?) Well, there was absoloutley nothing to worry about because the film did no start until 11!!! Yes, I kid you not. My people had actually outdone themselves with the whole lateness thing.
Let's not even forget that ONE cast member out of the whole crew that was promised us turned up, and oh yeah - the lovely, helpful organisors sold more tickets than there were seats, so we had people ready to kick ass in order to get a seat, people sitting on people's laps, people standing in the ailes and people even sitting on the extra chairs they decided to put out at the front. To put it this way, by the time the film actually started, people were fed up, pissed off and tired - but still very anxious to watch the film.
We were all relieved when it actually started, so can you imagine the total "pissedoffness" that filled the room when the M.C. decided to talk over the much anticipated "sex scene"? (And, yes, I am using the term "sex scene" very loosley.) I can't even front though, the film was really good, and I do recommend everybody to watch it.
Apart from the "minor" set backs, it was altogether an enjoyable evening, except for the fact that the film didn't finish until after 1 in the morning, leaving me and the girls (and our long faces) on the night bus back home.