"Alice in Queensland"

The first time my African skin breathed the Queen’s air, I deciphered why 1^st world countries would forever, battle with the problem of immigration. Moving from 33^oC to 13^oC 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 3^rd-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!

We Call it Home.....

WE ARE AFRICA!  We are black, white, brown and mixed. We are rich, poor and middle-class. We are not all sick! We are not all emaciated!  We are inundated with a dearth of bold leadership, diseases and hunger whilst being oppressed and maligned by systems and the powers that be. Yet, we are the future! You may read this with the subtlest of concurrence or with sheer cynicism, but though I may not live to see it, like MLK, I have a dream, that not only are we rising, that someday, my kids or their kids, would rewrite this piece, not futuristically but in the now!

I am not propounding unrealistic goals, but I see the hunger and thirst for success in the face of the African youth! I see the desire for change and that is the catalyst for change!  The societal nuances that characterize the African society are varied. People who were raised here or with African values, because mind you; it doesn’t take living in Africa to be African, would attest to this. Like my cousins in London remarked: “these outskirts is London, once you close that door, this is Ghana”! Our societal values bother on family, unity, love, faith and maybe sometimes to a fault, community. My mission here today is rather mundane, to let you in on some maybe funny, startling or infuriating societal happenings in the motherland.

Let’s start off with one of the means of public transportation in the motherland. A fancy term has been coined for it, “Trotro”. Unless you choose to live in a 5-star hotel or try to set up your own Beverly Hills in Ghana, something, some foreigners try to do whilst they live there which not only fascinates me but irks me in the same breath, you will have to sit in a trotro to discover that a 30 minute ride can either change your life for the better or the worse. You may adopt a rich and famous life in the motherland by resorting to boarding taxis, but you should at least try to discover this life of the ordinary African. Once you struggle to get in one, the stench from the conductor, affectionately called “mate” could reawaken your nasal senses to such a degree that your day’s frustrations would immediately lose its significance (not all of them though!). The “mate” whose sole role is to collect the fare from the passengers can sometimes fraternize with passengers to an extent that if you are like me, who sometimes felt her mannerism did not meet the definition of the term; “layman" even though considering the fact that my frugality which dictated my hostility to taxis with the silly excuse that it wasn’t safe qualified me as a “laywoman", these mates could come across to you as the most crude people on the surface of the earth. When someone sits next to you, 7 out of 10 times, they would start a random conversation with you. The topic comes in various hues; politics, religion, personal matters. The latter you might wonder why, but this one is tricky. This fellow trotro-boarder can begin telling you stories that may seem to the person on the next row that you both came from the same woman’s womb! It gets even weirder when they start the conversation and begin a lamentation. It's as if in that moment, you were their hero; that somehow, by letting you know what they have been through, your very ability to listen even though they may have lost you the moment their minds conceptualized this idea of sudden acquintance by virtue of having a shared commonality of the very lack of financial resources to buy a car and hence resorting to public transport, you could be the panacea to their exalted problems. 

Should you not empathize with their situation, you would be perceived rude. Nobody cares what you have been through during the day! This is a societal burden, which you have been given the august presence of aiding a fainting heart. Being African, you cannot be too busy to help a fellow African! We all sign a ‘continental treaty' every year in Addis Ababa to help each other, especially when we manage to escape our beloved home to the diaspora! That is barbaric and no being educated doesn’t excuse you either! At worst, the lay-man expects that your degree has the answer to his/her problems. And oh may I add, the women take it to a whole new level. Should you encounter a woman who starts the conversation with; "hmm,hmm" you can be sure her grievances would either be about a cheating husband or an insubordinate child! If its your first time in Africa, get off  at the next stop! You would have to agree with her on everything or else, you are her husbands ally! 

Restaurants are too regal for certain foods! Even if they have earned a Ph.D from Harvard or Cambridge, eating waakye in a restaurant is an anomaly. We like our local foods not only local by preparation, but by their site of sale! Like one of my bosses recounted in the past and don’t cringe because you are always served with cheesy smiles from waiters who do it half-of-the time for good tips, the best waakyes are those sold by the gutters! See, people with double masters, queue to get the best waakye and don’t worry, they will be back next week even after a bad bout of stomach upset! Paradoxic? I guess...

We are religious; maybe overly religious! On Sundays, I am sure the angels in heaven responsible for attending to the saints prayers are about 100,000 times more in African churches than those in Western countries. See, with all that is plaguing us, you can’t blame us for having 6 services in a day! Don’t look surprised! After all, God said he never slumbers nor sleeps! If christians in the West would give him a “resting period”, not us! We will call him till his schedule for the day is over! 

We may be poor, but not when you attend our funerals and weddings! Don’t get it twisted, we came to mourn, but to eat as well. Occasionally I would get confused as to what exactly the dancing was about; dancing with the ghost of the departed person to usher them to the other side or just seizing the opportunity to have a good time? You can be sure that even if we are in debt, we do not leave these important ceremonies with any mark less than a touch of gold! Whether that gold was bought, stolen or borrowed.

I type this piece with a smirk on my face. A smirk modeled by a dual sense of longing for what has been left behind and an anticipation of the unfamiliar grounds I am yet to tread. Isn’t it funny? How you appreciate the things you once had better when they are gone?

Then again, Africa would always be home!

See you next month!

Conceived Misconceptions

There is a global-social strata. On this strata and believe it or don’t but it exists, being African places you at the base of the pyramid. Whether you live in a 6-bedroom house in Egypt or you drive a 4x4 wheel drive in Ghana, who cares? To the rest of the world, your everyday living is synonymous to the hungry child from ‘Africa’ who is in almost every commercial on Aid in Western TV commercials.

To everyone else, as long as you reside in that continent, you must be hungry! And when you arrive in the West, possibly, you didn’t board a plane to get here. I do wonder how people think we get here though…oh i get it! Voodoo!
We probably chant all night and by the next morning, without passports or visas, we find ourselves 24hours-or-more away from the beloved and yet mysterious continent!

I thought ignorance was bliss but certainly, such overt and obvious admission of cluelessness, sometimes baffles me and other times, robes me in an ambassadorial garment, ready to educate my foreign comrades on the ‘Dark continent of Africa’, at least for the most part, that is what they know!

I realized I didn’t have to explain anymore! Being African and a passionate one at that, I am always tempted to launch into a “that-is-not-what-it -is-sessions”!  But who am I, to dissuade that woman at church who once reminded her teenage daughter one Sunday that I was from Africa and yet spoke “such good English” that, yes I have been learning English from kindergarten! Not only would her daughter begin to doubt all her mother may have told her about Africa, which would  certainly make her out to be a liar, but it would also mean that CNN and BBC her most trusted TV channels for world news were equally a bunch of ‘people' putting out false knowledge.

 No, I would take the high road and smile upon hearing her admission of my flawless expression in the Queen’s language in the country Columbus discovered and walk away. At least after singing some songs of worship from Australia, I would not feel that bad when I notice people wonder where I learned these songs. At least, they don't ask! But the incredulous look on their faces is enough to construct in plain language  exactly what their thought processes are that instant.

Till next time, I will be walking along and telling you about the adventures of a nomadic African!