Diversification:[dih-vur-suh-fi-key-shuhn]. noun- the act or practice of manufacturing a variety of products, investing in a variety of securities, selling a variety of merchandise, etc., so that a failure in or an economic slump affecting one of them will not be disastrous.

How many time have you walked past a black owned shop, to find that not only does it specialise in hair products, but it's also laden with mops and buckets, DIY tools, cleaning products, plantain crisps, bread, water and everything and anything else its savvy owner can think of? (Let's not forget the money transfer booth, and the calling cards on the side)

Don't get me wrong, I am not oblivious to one's need to branch out into other markets, especially in these times, but I cannot count the number of times I have walked past shops that seem to be nothing more than glorified junk sales, filled with a mish mash of different products. It's horrific to see the confusion going on in some shop windows. It just leaves me thinking, "mate, you're not being a smart business man, you just look confused!".



I took this photo of a shop on Plumstead High Street today. I remember the first time I passed it. I was gobsmacked! How are you going to name your shop "MONEY & CALL SHOP HAIR SALON MUSIC" and expect me to take you seriously? If you're going to branch out, at least invest some thought into it!

Earlier this year, I was walking down the same high street with Sankofa, when another one of those "anything will do " shops caught my eye.



You may not notice it at first glance, but there is actually a lot of activity going on in this shop. How many products and services can you see up for sale here? I'll start you off with the £5 hair cut being advertised in the window :)

(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.

For those of you not yet acquainted with the beautiful Nneka, get to know! This Nigerian-German songstress has been making moves for a while now and this is one of my favourite songs off her debut album "Concrete Jungle" (or "No Longer At Ease" as it was earlier known). I'm in a fighting mood today so I'm going to let Nneka provide the soundtrack to my week. Enjoy this live performance from Letterman.

"And now the world is asleep
How will you ever wake her up when she is deep in her dreams, wishing
And yet so many die
And still we think that it is all about us
It's all about you
You sold your soul to the evil and the lust
And the passion and the money and you
See the same ones die, people hunger for decades
Suffer under civilized armed robbers, modern slaveholders"

Today, not dissimilar from most Thursdays, I was on my way home from work. It was around 9.08 pm, and I was just entering the gate to my house when I received a text from Nsoromma. “Please tell me you are watching Welcome to Lagos”, it read. “Shit!” I thought, rushing through the gate and pushing through my front door in one messy bundle. Whoever knows me knows how anal I am about watching a film or a show from its very first second. And I had missed a whole eight minutes! mini sanɛ nɛ! (Loose tr: oh dear!) So I ran straight upstairs,totally forgetting about the televised political debate, not stopping to say hi to my family downstairs in the living room, not even pausing to take a breath, or to pass Go and collect my £200. I had to watch this programme I had been waiting for the whole week.

I practically catapulted myself into my room and made a beeline for my TV. Quick...Remote...BBC 2. Once I had finally managed to get the TV onto the right channel, and sit down, I must admit I was a tad disappointed by what I was confronted with: a grown ass man sporting dirty overalls and a cap rummaging through piles of junk in a massive dump site. What the hell is this? KMT! I was tempted to switch it over, but as the show progressed, I realised this man sells the “goods” he finds in the dump to make a living. And then the documentary followed the man into his home, (Joseph, I think his name was), and the way he interacted with his family. His daughter’s first birthday was approaching and he and his wife were planning a birthday party. Something he said caught my attention. It was along the lines of “If I had to work in a dumpsite smellier and dirtier than the one I’m in now to earn more money, I would do it to give my family a good life.” I am not really sure what the programme had covered so far, but for me that was the first of many stereotypes of Nigerians it had broken. For example, not all Nigerian men are dictators, fiercely ruling over their women and their families while refusing to actually interact with them with any sort of affection. Shoot me if you want, but that’s the portrayal of Nigerian men I had actually believed.

The documentary also showed how Lagosians and people from other places made a livelihood in the big cattle market. It documented people negotiating over the price of cows, and other cattle (that I cannot remember!) It also showed how a man (I have forgotten his name) processed Cow’s blood to make chicken feed. What I liked about the show was that, for once, Africans were being shown to be resourceful, working hard for a living, rather than passively accepting aid or fighting over food items being thrown from UN trucks.

Also, although these people were living in squalid conditions, they were happy. Rather than playing the victim, they seemed to be content with their lot. I also noticed that the narrator often used words such as “optimistic”, and “hard-working” to describe the Nigerian people.

My criticisms? Well firstly, in typical BBC style, I feel the show did impose its opinions on its audience a bit. Like the uncomfortable close up of the man talking into the camera with a chewing stick in his mouth. I mean I’m sure the BBC would never document life in London, and have a white man speaking into the camera while brushing his teeth and spitting foam into the camera.

I also disliked the way subtitles were put up even when what was being said was in perfectly comprehendible English. It just seemed a bit patronising. Subtitles, in my opinion, are totally acceptable if people are speaking Pidgin or in their different languages. And while, we are on the subject, why are subtitles always needed when it’s an African speaking, no matter how clear his English is? *sigh*

Also, I feel the great British public has been brainwashed with enough images of abject poverty in Africa. I don’t think they needed to see anymore. But I got the sense that the show was one episode in a series of many. So I sincerely hope that life in the more glamorous side of Lagos will be later broadcasted.

You may disagree with me, but one thing the documentary did not lack was the entertainment factor, it was certainly interesting. I think it did attempt to be real, but I couldn’t help but feel the Lagosians were sometimes being mocked. To finish, let me add that I actually sat there watching the show with my coat on and didn’t think to take it off until it was over!

Picture taken from http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/tv/2010/04/welcome-to-lagos-itll-defy-you.shtml

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.

Ever since I first stepped foot on English soil, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the whole country falls into a two-minute silence in order to honour the British men and women who have died for their country since the First World War. The build-up to Remembrance day is inescapable and on Remembrance Sunday, chapel services are held all over the country in order to give due to all those who have died in the name of Britain and the Commonwealth.

I remember being barely out of primary school when I discovered that other brown faces, aside from South-Asian ones, were also part of the First and Second World War effort. Imagine my shock when I discovered that West Africans, East Africans, Southern Africans, and men and women from the Caribbean had also joined the allied powers and laid down their lives for the good  of the "Great British Empire". Some colonial soldiers voluntary joined the British forces because they genuinely believed they were British and needed to protect their mother country. Others were forced to join via conscription. Whatever their reasons for joining, these men and women fought just as hard as white Brits in the quest to defend Britain and her allies. However, although South-Asian contribution to the wars has been well-documented, with support for Nepalese veterans from famous faces, I feel that African and Caribbean contributions to the two World Wars have been chronically ignored. The number of Africans that were part of the war effort is truly astounding:

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.

Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

I did a French with Linguistics degree at King's College, London and this was one of the books on the reading list for a course on Maghrebi (French North African) writing.


This tale of memory and searching is written by Assia Djebar, a veritable G in francophone African literature from Algeria. Djebar, real name Fatima-Zohra Imalayen, writes mostly about the struggles of women especially in relation to Islam, the effects of war on the woman's mind and artfully deals with the clashes and harmonies between old and new, tradition and progress.
Assia Djebar was born in Cherchell, a small coastal town near Algiers, the capital of Algeria. Her father was a french teacher and the culmination of this and her study of classic arabic gave her the linguistic flexibilty to manipulate the french language giving it Arabic sounds and rhythms.
Her feminist stance, use of French and often dissident voice has led to much international praise, but also to hostility from nationalistic critics in Algeria.


In this novel Djebar portrays herself as a journalist and returning daughter to Cherchell, once called Césarée, home to research the story and find the bones of a legendary female Mujahddin (fighter/warrior) Zoulikha Oudai who helped the nationalistic rebels resist the French during the Algerian civil war in 1976.
As is commonplace in the work of Djebar, she portrays herself as an outsider, named only l'invitee, la visiteuse or l'etrangere*, and she delves, rather like a anthropological archaeologist into the past of the whole region through the recollections of the daughters, friends and acquaintances of Zoulikha.
For those who know Djebar's work this novel finds itself a stepping-stone in a path of writing begun with 'Women of Algiers in their apartments' (1980) and 'So Vast the Prison' (1995) and thus continues in the literary traditions of these two novels, this is perhaps the reason why Djebar installs an aura of déjà vu in the prelude to the book.


Djebar manages to interweave reality and fiction in this work, using her real conversations with the 'women of Césarée' with her own imagined scenes from that heated time in the 70s when Zoulikha was alive and the war raged. Through the visiting of the ruins of the ancient town, the whole war as experienced by the little towns of Algeria is portrayed and revisited.


The title of the book means The Woman without a Grave and this talks of Zoulikha's unknown final resting place, a result of her assumed murder by the french military and the consequent eradication of her name in history.

This book is laden with imagery and has an intensity which is thick almost to the point of viscosity, drawing the reader fully into the stories within the story and into the humid, heady atmosphere of post and pre-independence Algeria.

I must admit that this book is rather heavy-going but can be read quickly if focused on, I could not really write a synopsis, evaluation book review on this one because there are many intertwining synopses and undercurrents of history and feminism.


Djebar does not find the real bones of Zoulikha, and to my mind there is the suggestion that she will never be laid to rest in even a metaphorical grave. The stories surrounding her are often fantastical, but sometimes mundane, embittered (such as the tale of one daughter who felt abandoned) but also laudatory (as shown in another daughter's heroine-view of her mother) and therefore the many contradictions ensure that her story is always being 'exhumed'.


All in all this is a powerful testament to the ongoing strength of storytelling and especially of female remembrance even in the most paternalistic societies. Although Djebar writes pessimistically about the ability of women to shine in an overbearing patriarchy, here she fairly paints Zoulikha as a real heroine, even if she does not have a day to remember her. the honesty of the accompanying portrayals of this normal abnormal woman illustrate the human side to the ghostly figure of the grave-less heroine.





*the invited, the visitor, the stranger (All translations my own )

In the relative boredom of my life at the moment I've been scouring through my mate Afrocentric's extensive book shelves...after all what are friends for? Anyhoo, knowing me she recommended Changes by Ama Ata Aidoo since I've never read it, so here's my review....

Last night, Afrocentric and I attended our very first Ghanaian Londoners event at the Dust Bar in Farringdon, organised by the lovely Adwoa Agyemang and we had a blast. We were late (gotta work on that GMT) but we still managed to catch some great speakers including Bex Mortty of Quality Network Solutions and the London representative of the NPP whose name unfortunately I didn't manage to catch. There was immeasurable Ghanaian talent in one little room and that included a fellow Ghana blogger Kwabena of Ghana Hype. Kwabena is also the creator of the wonderful Kayobi clothing line and if you haven't checked out his stuff, I suggest you do so asap.

Anyway, when the actual "networking" session began, let's just say that Afrocentric and I took a little while to get into the swing of things. Alright, we were down right wusses! I find networking really hard people! Tell me I'm not alone in this. It feels like the first day of school all over again. We eventually manned up and met a myriad of creative (and analytical) minds. Still I sometimes wonder at the usefulness of these networking beyond meeting new people. How many people really utilise these new contacts when all is said and done? We would still do it all over again a heartbeat because new people are new people, no long. So, what are the thoughts of people out there on "networking"?

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?

Am I afro-cen...

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?

So I haven't written a blog post in a while and I was complaining to Afrocentric that I felt like I had nothing to say lately. Then, for some reason, I realised "hold up"! I'm always complaining (or "passionate" as some people call it) about something. I realised there have been two things that have repeatedly put my back up in the last few years and this is one of them. Yes people, I'm talking about skin bleaching. Interestingly enough, just as I was formulating this post, I noticed that the BBC website had just posted a story on this very problem and it had rocketed to the top of their "most sent" article column . Clearly this is an issue by which many of us are concerned.

Growing up, I was never really conscious of skin colour until I progressed further and further up the educational ladder. When my sister, who is eleven years younger than me, was born I remember a great hoopla being made over her beauty. Now don't get me wrong, Sankofa Jr. is gorgeous but I noticed certain terminology was always used to describe her. "Oh Sankofa Jr. is so pretty and fair!" "Sankofa Jr. has such lovely and bright skin". You see where I'm going with this right? However, the older Sankofa Jr. got the darker in tone she became and a move to the ATL only expedited the issue. I remember showing a recent picture of her to a certain family friend who exclaimed "Oh no! She has gotten sooooo dark! Have you not been keeping her out of the sun?" She had to get a big


Since when did black Africans become so obsessed with skin colour? If I had a pound for every time I, or a friend, has been slyly given skin "brightening" creams or been told that we're pretty even though we're dark skinned.... Let's just say that I'd be making an appearance in Forbes. I am well aware that there is a difference in attempting to even complexion and straight up "Casper-ification" but some people need a big fat SIT DOWN! Hey, fine with me if you want to destroy the protective melanin God gave us. Or if you wish to expose your skin to hydroquinone (C6H602 for all you science buffs) of which the long term effects include premature ageing, blotchy, collagen- damaged skin, and skin cancer (yes black people can get skin cancer). Skin bleaching creams also contain mercury and trust me it's in a far more potent form than the type in a thermometer. Mercury, as pregnant women will know, can lead to kidney and liver failure in addition to leaving blue pigmentation in the folds of the skin, not to mention that these products are illegal in the United Kingdom. Now let me ask you, when you think of a beautiful woman do these images come to mind? Don't even get it twisted, it's not an exclusively African disease. Skin bleaching creams are prevalent in Caribbean countries and Asian countries also. In my opinion, the world is going mad. You've got white people going mad with the tanning and black people embracing the Casper effect hard. Sorry to be insufferably cheesy but whatever happened to loving ourselves? God gave me my skin colour for a reason and for that reason alone I'm gonna love it till the day I die.

Also, if you're so determined to bleach, why attempt to hide it? You ain't slick. I am sure all of you have encountered the phenomenon I named this post after. The "fanta face, coca-cola body" woman. Don't come and tell me you don't bleach when your knuckles and feet look like you've been grazing in charcoal but your face is more orange than the "You know when you've been tangoed" man. Come on!

Truthfully speaking, thinking about this issue made me think about the other side of the coin. Remember when we were in school and the light-skinned boy and girl were automatically the most popular people in your class? (St. James' holla! lol) Yeah just admit we were all on light-skinned boys until Moris Chestnut, Tyrese, and the ilk came along and put them out of fashion. I've happily said that light-skinned men are not my cup of tea as I've grown up. However, I have seen men straight up ROASTED for preferring light-skinned black women over their more melanin- endowed counterparts. Now where's the difference? Yes from today, I am really trying to stop that foolishness. It's a free country, just as I have my preferences, why should I lambast somebody for also having their preferences? But preferences are just that- preferences. If a man I like prefers lighter-skinned women does that mean I need to chemically alter my skin to better fit his preferences? Hell no! Come on people, if this does not apply to you, urge your mums, your aunties, (hell, your uncles too) to put the bleaching creams down. Our skin is beautiful in the myriad shades it comes in. Let's celebrate this.

I can empathise with Mary J. When she cried for No More Drama...and yet I can't quite make it work in my life. Consider...

I split from my very nice boyfriend of several months (around 6 I think...) because I was on this whole no more drama hype. As lovely as he was he had some fundamental 'flaws' that we could never get past:

1. He's inkremoni (tr. Muslim) and I am not, and I've met too many people whose lives have been messed up because of the differences in their parents' religions. Sorry, I know it may work for some people but I'm not interested in that wahala (tr. Drama) in my life.
   
2. He's dodgy. Like D-O-D-G-Y, as far as I'm concerned there are enough opportunities in this country for someone raised in the system to do something with their lives. He's a fast approaching 30, graduate who takes great pride in having never had a job. He's not on benefits and is living it up! No! C'mon I feel like I should be past that kind of dodginess in my life, as I've iterated before I feel like I am on the cusp of starting a wonderful life where my looooooong education is finally going to pay dividends. Look, I've done the ride-or-die chick thing before; at 23 I'm not interested in having your back if the police catch you. I'm older now and I'd probably be more inclined to think 'Good! You deserve to be caught! What are you thinking? GROW THE HELL UP!'That's drama man.
   
3. He's alatani (tr. Nigerian) and before you people start on the racist hype. Listen. I've been with my fair share of Naija guys before and I just cannot abide the whole 'I'm Nigerian, we're the best' thing, how about 'I'm Ghanaian, I love being Ghanaian and I don't want to contend with the part of you that secretly believes your people are superior to mine!' Neither is it fair on him that I have inbred bad feelings about Naija dudes (OK that's not strictly fair or true, I think Ghanaian guys can be high wastage too!). But I would be a big fat liar if I did not acknowledge his very alata-ness was a problem. ASEM! (tr. Trouble)
   
4. He's a lovely guy but really, I can't have a relationship with a man who can go for weeks, yes! WEEKS without feeling the need to see me when we live in the same 'regions' of London (Southside, that's where I'm coming from!)
   

Aww, bless him though he's nice, just not for me.

So I moved on with the help of an old, er, flame. Grrr, he is sooo the epitome of Ghanaian male wastage! Consider...

We have history and the whole idea was that now we have no separate dramas in our lives we should give it a real go. THEN he announces the drama of all dramas that no girl wants to hear...there's some chick expecting his child. WTF? ASEM! So, after his pleas and various (annoyingly childish) 'tests' of my loyalty and thinking long, deep and hard, I decided it is pretty unfair to judge a guy on the basis of one mistake, even if that 'mistake' results in a new life.

Nice, aren't I?

Well, I think so! I mean for many people that's an automatic no-no and I thought I'd try the mature route...fat lot of good it did me! He is as childish as when I first started seeing him a couple years back. Despite all his talk he's still essentially a child. I mean 'tests', really?!?!?! That nonsense always ends badly. It's sad though because I really, really, REALLY like him but I think he's incapable of being in an adult relationship. W-A-H-A-L-A, I'm sorry but it's not about babysitting grown as men!

Then there's the friend, who I believe is absolutely amazing! I (not-so-secretly) adore him. He's mature and straight-forward, God fearing and about something. I can tell him anything and everything. We can jam for hours and sometimes it is that nice kind of jamming, where neither of you say much of anything but you just enjoy each other's company. BUT, there's this underlying sexual chemistry that's growing...Which really isn't a problem...until you factor in the knowledge that he does not want a relationship. He generally treats me so well that, heck, I'm only human! I fantasise about being with him and sometimes when I look at him I know it's written on my face...as in this boy is not stupid and he has categorically informed me that he knows how bad I want him by the way I look at him. Before my flustered, embarrassed ass can reply he also told me that I shouldn't feel bad in the slightest because extremely explicit thoughts cross his mind whenever he's around me. Now, it's out there it's like walking a tightrope...I don't want to lose my friend! But DAMN! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh ASEM!

I really can empathise with Mary J. but someone needs to show me how to achieve this ideal of no more drama. I mean without getting bored. Because when I get bored I always get into some other trouble and it begins again. Oh DRAMA, WAHALA, ASEM!

After being repeatedly harangued by Sankofa about my lack of contribution I today braved the world of blogging for the first time...Hiya!!!!!!!!

I've always wondered what drives people to write all this non-related stuff on the 'intinet' (lol!) and expected people to read it? Nonetheless here I am joining the legions of people writing whatever comes to mind on the internet and do you know, it's oddly cathartic as I sit in my mates bed at roughly 3.30pm on a Tuesday knowing that coursework and revision are calling out to me, slowly eating into my ability to enjoy life...and living it (lol! Yes I KNOW the way I slid that in was ever so corny but I DON'T CARE!). Alas, whilst I have no interest in revising research methods or writing my second essay on voluntary sector policy I must admit the £7000 odd I'm paying for my blimming degree is damn good incentive in causing me to reconsider the judgement that has me sitting here wishing to do ANYTHING but revise. I know my fellow 'life...and living it' girls are feeling me because we are each in the same boat.

The dilemma comes about because the learning into which we have each been 'encouraged', some to a lesser extent than others, in an ever-so-Ghanaian manner (Go to school, read your books! You must be an accountant or lawyer...what is this nonsense about studying Art?! Kwasia!) to get 'good' jobs and go out into the world of work, make money et cetera. But as I sit here I wonder how right they all were...the world as we know it seems to be currently falling apart. APPARENTLY, the bottom has fallen out of the job market due to the 'global, financial and economic crisis' and ex-high flying bankers are taking the boring mundane jobs our parents wanted us to fill instead. And it WOULD be now in the midst of this turmoil that the education system is preparing to spit me quite unprepared into the world of work which my lawyer friend, whose bed I am currently lounging in, tell me sucks.

And all this when I should be revising for my exams.

Now, to the dilemma...do I work my socks off trying to get a distinction for this silly masters so that I am catapulted to the front of the queue of desperate jobseekers or do I actively not do my best so I can fail, be forced to retake and so delay entry to the boring world of work until all the ex-high flying bankers take this set of mundane jobs and I get a chance at the next set? Hmmm, decisions, decisions....

All this has got me to thinking....I should have gone to the Slade School and studied ART!