The
first time my African skin breathed the Queen’s air, I deciphered why 1st
world countries would forever, battle with the problem of immigration. Moving
from 33oC to 13oC comes with a different set of
convictions. You assure yourself that you belong here and there’s no way you
will not find the means, legitimate or not to if not now, one day, settle here
for good (at least for those of us perpetually dealing with the sun)! I should
have walked straight into the bathroom and washed out my ears to be able to
accommodate the new accent I was going to have to get accustomed to for the
next 10 days. Little did I know that grasping the Queen’s accent had become
complicated in the wake of modernity. My infantile assessment that this was my
favorite accent in the world now stood void, as I struggled to grasp my
“friends” whose lips were always less that an inch apart each time they spoke!
I
would not admit that the following were culture shocks even though I think
that’s how they are called. In the Queen’s country, there is more “Ceaser” than
“Chicken” in “Chicken-Ceaser”. As the waitress beamed her wide smile and placed
that large bowl of leaves sprinkled with sparse chicken on my table, I nearly
called Yaa Dedaa to vent my frustration into her poor ears! I heard myself
scream; “this is not what I paid 11 English pounds for, and do you know how
much that is in my third world Ghana-cedi?” Yet, her politeness and sheepish
smile followed by, “is there anything else I can get for you" in “my-most-cherished-accent”
shut down the questions I had asked whilst being totally oblivious of her
courtesy. I had escaped into a head-space where I had punched this English brunette
out of sheer frustration! When I realized that would be totally typical and
crude of me, I found myself beaming an equally sheepish smile and uttered a disappointing,
“no thank you”. The next thing I knew, I was chewing 'leaves' and reassuring
myself that I was in the Queen’ s country where healthy eating is highly
esteemed and hence my current ordeal should be hallowed and not lamented!
Since
I was in the Queen’s country for the first time, it was imperative that I visited
some places. I had seen people who had been before take pictures by the London
bridge, Buckingham palace, and those who happened to visit Manchester
definitely took a trip to Old Trafford and by the “grace of social media”, I
had been let in on their rendezvous. I therefore, had a fair idea of the places
I needed to go, “to fulfill all righteousness”. I had to meet the queen to tell
her of my escape, at least for a few days! So there I was literally running to
Buckingham palace to meet the queen. Running along the streets of Central
London was both exciting and awkward. I was too stingy to pick a taxi so
trekking was my only option. When I arrived and saw several other people who
had come to pay homage to the Queen, it brought a sense of accomplishment to my
Spirit. My dad had mentioned that he would love to see the queen someday, days
to me leaving home. Standing outside of the palace looking on at palace guards
who barely moved, felt like I was fulfilling my dad’s dream of “eyeing the
queen someday” at least, in part!
I
would like to say I love to travel and I do! But my financial resources don’t
exactly permit me to say it with the kind of liberality that I wish I could. If
I had my way, I would retire by age 45 and spend the next 15 years of my life
touring the rest of the world. If I become richer than, Oprah, or go back home
to become the “Nkosuohemaa” in the Kwahu mountains, maybe I could fancy touring
the world.
There
was something awfully familiar about shopping in Primark; where everything is
cheap and first-timers always shopped. Shopping was fun especially since if you
are leaving my homeland, your family would write you a list and then your other
“family” would write you a list. This other family consists of church members,
neighbors and acquaintances who are happy that you are leaving the
“predicaments” they have endured all these years even if it is for a few days.
They would like for you to get them a few things, which, they had been hoping
someone would travel abroad, and then, they would get those things. Lo and
behold, they had heard through a friend that your “star had struck” and so they are
here to do what they “dutifully” should.
Saying
I got lost in the Queen’s abode doesn’t sound gratifying, but yours truly did
and oh with all the ensuing drama. After staying in Primark for 3 hours and
walking out with a bunch of bags, I started walking towards my abode and realized
10 minutes later that like Alice in Wonderland, I did not know which way to go.
I needed to convince myself that I was lost and after deciphering my fate, I
forgot in the 1st world, you do not ask for directions but use your GPS. So
here I was with my 3rd-world antics, asking a man who
looked like a fellow African from the East how I could find my way back to my
hotel. He suggested I went with him to his car, which, he claimed was not too
far from where we were standing. I almost believed him, but then, I escaped to my
mental space yet again where I could see Abeiku Forson’s face with his stern demeanor;
“do not follow strangers”, I heard him rant and so after I returned, I politely
declined, but wanted to ask him whether he thought I was a fish! But I didn’t. Thank
God for the fruit of the Spirit.
For
any newbie in any part of the world, the cultural and societal nuances can
sometimes make you laugh at yourself so much you might wonder if everything was
moving on well “upstairs”. If there’s anything I found most fascinating in Queensland,
it was definitely the quickness with which the exchange rate came to mind. Each
time I saw a price tag, it was as if the fact that €1 was at the time the
equivalent of 5.6 cedis was as common knowledge as the fact that, Obama is the
first half-black President of “Obamaland”. Each time I had to order food, I
would instinctively calculate its equivalent in Ghana cedi, and immediately
lose interest in that meal no matter how fancy the name was! I would remind
myself that this amount of money could buy about 7 meals of “banku” back home.
If you ever have fancied living on the
countryside, you might just like Northampton. The farms there were both
exciting and boring to look at. Passing through for one day, was sufficient for
my short-lived excitement. Later that evening, there was a royal wedding since
if you are in England, every wedding must be royal! More like my colleagues and
I gatecrashed the wedding and oh we got those looks. Those “ what are you doing
here and how did you get here” looks which I took to my humorous senses and
drowned in my pool of “carefreeness”. After all, if you won’t be bold enough to
ask me, then I don’t care either to tell!
In
Queensland, I drank less tea than I thought I should, because before arriving,
I imagined the Brits had tea for breakfast, lunch and supper. I heard “cheers”
so often that I forgot it only meant, “bye”, because in my motherland, cheers
was followed by clinking of glasses! I fulfilled a teenage fantasy of crushing on a
Black-British guy. May I just add that, the whole time this guy spoke, I stared
at his face remembering how I always thought that was the sexiest accent on
earth! On two occasions this friend of mine at the bar offered me free drinks
and I thought; “I must be the luckiest girl on earth, at least for two nights”!
Travel
more, see more, and broaden your horizon. The world is bigger than you will
ever know. Should my fiscal state experience a miracle, I will definitely be
aboard some flight for my next nomadic adventure! An alternative title to this
piece is; “Okuraseni as3m y3mobo!” (ask any Ghanaian to explain that to you for
a good weekend laugh)
Every
now and then, it’s ok to laugh at yourself just a little bit!
PS.
They called that brown paste, sauce, so I guess my reaction was just as fitting.
If there’s something I will miss about "Queensland" it will definitely be the food.
My “Fante” side definitely adores a good meal and questions any unfamiliar idea
of what purports to be. Yet, I was in Rome, so….
“Nos vemos el proximo mes” – That’s
Spanish for “See you next month”…and no I don’t speak Spanish. Credit - Google!
