Holli's ramblings

Death to Uncle Ben!

2009-11-15T19:38:34.574Z

I make a mean chili (con carne). It’s true (ok, people tell me it’s true so I choose to believe them). And the amazing thing about this fact is that it’s one of the only things I can cook. Well. My culinary skills are quite limited. You’re about to find out just how limited…So it’s a lazy Sunday, the diet starts tomorrow (as usual), and I peel myself off the couch, inspired out of nowhere (but for the looming supper hour approaching), to make some chili. (I am usually off the hook for this task, as we have a cook who comes from Monday to Friday... I know, I know... spoiled).I was humming away to myself in my sauna-cum-kitchen (in the house we inhabit, which used to be the Libyan Embassy of Accra – no joke! Irrelevant to this story but interesting and random). I was actually feeling quite happy with myself, since I’d remembered to pick up chili powder in Houston last week. Chili powder cannot be bought in Ghana. Here, chili powder is exactly what it says it is – fire hot peppers, dried and ground into powder. I found this out the hard way once in my earlier years in Ghana, while making one of my ‘killer chilis’. I near killed a couple of guests…But I digress. So there I was this fine evening, cutting and sautéing and humming, (this is a rare thing in my life), when Q walks in with that inevitable teenager question,“What’s for supper?”Me, proudly, “Chili!”Q - “With rice?”Me – “No, why?”Q – “Well chili’s not chili without rice!”So there it was. All my cooking ineptitude quivering, hanging, about to spill out, on this statement.I cannot cook rice. There, I’ve said it. I haven’t tried many times, but when I have it’s always been a disaster. Think rice pudding with lots of salt. Hmmm.It’s not entirely my fault though. I grew up on the hideous fast-food-inspired Uncle Ben’s Instant rice. WHAT IS THAT STUFF?! I always hated rice as a result. Uncle Ben is creepy in general - who owns that company? Somehow I doubt it was Uncle Ben himself. Between he and Aunt Jemima, lots of racial stereotypes have stood the test of time... but apparently in unrelated news, Uncle Ben has a new image! He is now a CEO executive type, traveling the world... Shit, where was I?When I moved to Africa, I met a continent that is obsessed with rice. Carbs in general, but rice specifically.I have a colleague from Mali who declared at lunch one day, “Without rice, there is no life. There is no life without rice.”So, I tried rice in Africa, all over Africa, and it is great. Cooked so many ways, but always delicious. The texture, the taste. Who knew? Then I discovered all this rice is imported from Thailand, or thereabouts… When I had the misfortune of tasting local Ghanaian rice, I understood why everyone imported rice. Come on Africa! Come on Ghana! The climate is perfect – grow your own rice commercially!... sigh, one day…But we are here to expose my pathetic ineptitude for making rice. And there we stood, my son and I in the steamy kitchen… and we made a decision.An hour later, my humble gardener returned from his ‘quarters’ with the remaining dry rice and a tub of salt in one hand, a full, steamy pot of perfectly cooked rice in the other.Yes, I asked my gardener to make rice for me. I know how pathetic this sounds. Having a gardener, who lives on-hand, available for my demented whims…The fact that I laughed at myself nervously to him, offered him a bag of uncooked rice and some beers from our fridge as well as a small ‘overtime pay’ does not make up for it, I’m sure…I think I’ve sunk to an unprecedented low.I can imagine he and his new lady friend in their room…Eric: “Please, we have to make a pot of rice for Madam”Lady friend, “What? Rice for your madam, why? She cannot make rice?” Lady friend thinking, WHAT WOMAN CANNOT MAKE RICE?! Eric and lady friend thinking, AH, THESE STRANGE, DEPENDENT OBRUNIS (whites), WE’LL NEVER UNDERSTAND THEM…The truth is that if we take a look across cultures, and then back at ourselves, a lot is revealed about strange p[...]

Walk in - Roll Out. Houston hosts Holli

2009-11-12T21:41:34.737Z

I landed in Houston for the second time in my life. The weather was gorgeous. Nothing else was…

I witnessed mile after strip mall infested mile to the hotel, to town, to the airport, and in between, I witnessed these:

- FLAT. F. L. A. T. - A speed bump might be considered a mountain in Houston.

- Christmas pics with pets… I’m not kidding. Dogs and cats are food in parts of the country where I live…

- Beautiful green precision cut lawns. New, just poured? sidewalks everywhere, and not a pedestrian in sight.

- In fact, on my solemn walk, I found out the hard way that not only are pedestrians NOT given the right of way, they are not given ANY way! There were NO pedestrian crossings at the traffic lights!

- I was confused with a Mexican (no doubt) as I WALKED (OMG, unheard of) – as young Mexicanos in pimped up cars slowed down, base thumping, to chat me up in Spanish… are you serious?

- Jack in the box

- Did I mention strip malls?

- Chili’s

- Nail salons (in strip malls)

- McDonald’s – no seriously. Every 2 blocks. In between the Jack in the Boxes…

- Drive-thru Pharmacies.

- Baby back ribs – like the kind on the Flintstones - massive. YUM!

- Bumpits – for big Texas hair – as seen on TV. This is SOOO Texas stereotype! C’mon people, we need to work at breaking these down, not fulfilling them to the letter… sigh.

- Muslim American military doctor goes postal… kills 13? He’d just been promoted and was headed to Afganistan to help Muslim Americans with their conflicting feelings… This was big news during my 3 day stay. Only in America.

- Restaurant motto on massive sign board – “Walk in – Roll out”

- Sheriff/police eat free policy at all conferences, including ours – Offshore Communications… and they did! Just waddled in, sat down at sponsored event lunches, (at reserved tables), and then waddled out. Wow. Wonder if this is listed in the perks of the job?

- Street names: Beauregard, Rip Van Winkle, Mossycup, Overcup, Broken Bough, Broken Arrow…

You gotta love Houston… or not. In my case, I think there will be no love lost from either side if I don’t make it back…

What I gained from the experience? 3 pounds.

The Modern Mission

2009-11-02T23:48:00.311Z

In a random European Airport, under the harsh lights, at some ungodly hour, somewhere between the comfort of home and the great unknown, a group are huddled together for reassurance, uniform in cotton t-shirts, with big eyes and sturdy backpacks from Bass Pro Shops. Eager beavers, goats before the slaughter. Their thick backs bear the inscription ‘Malawi 2009’. Their armour is weak for the journey they have yet to begin.Characteristically pudgy and pale, stodgy raw sausage ankles push out from under sensible cotton trousers and long modest skirts, stuffed into Dr. Scholls and Tevas for comfort. Their packs, like them, are stuffed, taut. Unscented sunblock, mosquito spray and bed nets; and ‘little gifts for the children’- and Dairy Milk fruit and nut bars for themselves. For strength. They are jovial, yet a tangible nervous energy hangs over them like animals devoid of instinct, when the forest around them knows there is danger ahead. They have no idea. They decide to sing.They hover, docile and domesticated around their guide. He is confident and all-knowing. He has actually BEEN TO AFRICA before, and he will lead this unprepared motley crew into the wild. His cheeks are a deeper red than the others, his enthusiasm rehearsed. He knows what lies ahead, but has pledged himself to a make believe cause…The bland mass are willing but not able, well-meaning but insincere, sheltered and softened by processed foods and years of inactivity. They have emerged from the warm dark cave where they’ve been nurtured on clean running water and Starbucks, electricity and mod-cons, the frivolity of Hallmark love and television emotions. There is not a muscle in sight. The sinews of these creatures have never strained. Never pulsed against the enemy that awaits. Poverty the rat will mock them and eat it’s children with wanton fangs, and these soft bellied creatures will weep and mourn and look up to the Hosanna they’ve had inscribed on their XL tees. Cheek flesh will tremble, hot tears will well up and spill uselessly on the dry crusted surface of the African slum.And the naïve smiles painted on their blank faces will be replaced. Temporarily smudged. They will return a few weeks or months later, believing they’ve been changed forever. Licking their wounds they will retreat. They will cling limply to the belief that something has changed. That their mission has had a higher purpose… They will remember the bright saucer eyes in the tiny brown faces atop spindly limbs, and believe there was connection, love, hope… while countless faceless rats scurry underfoot.When our group are back in their warm caves, baking Pilsbury chocolate chip cookies, the trip to the wild will slip into a pocket of memory, a conversation for tea. A flash reflection before excess and indulgence overcome them once again. Swallowed by mountains and mountains of things.[...]

Crushed

2009-10-31T14:19:04.193Z

I'm still new to blog-love in the formal sense, so I was astonished to find out someone's got a 'blog-crush' on me! *blushes*, looks down, sweeps ground with toes...sways from side to side coquettishly (is that a word?)...

Well i have to say, it's mutual, I just didn't know how to show it - there's so much to learn!

Thank you wholeheartedly to Julochka, mother of the wonder-blog, Moments of perfect clarity - an outlet for madness with occasional flashes of insight. I've been visiting and thoroughly enjoying this blog for a while now... sort ot stalking from the sidelines and now it's all out in the open! J wrote a lovely tribute type post about Holli's Ramblings today. I'm trying not to let it go to my head, but it just might... (reminds self: "Holli, remember crushes pass, don't be broken hearted" later) :)

She also posted a wonderful photo of a globe with a beautiful Africa as the focal point - it's gorgeous and I'm posting it here (all rights reserved or something, photo belongs to Julochka - hopefully she will still like me and not have me arrested for using the image without permission)



Interestingly, Julochka and others who fearlessly go where others have not gone before - have pioneered new terms, which I've discovered, have not even made it into the world famous urban dictionary (let alone Websters)!!! The terms 'blog crush' and 'blog love' are all new and innovative people! We are molding and editing language to follow the trends of our time! Aren't you excited?!

I'm starting to feel part of something bigger than all of us as individuals. Thanks again... Oh, and Happy Halloween!

Friday Funnies from Natalie and Toothpaste

2009-10-30T12:07:56.603Z

I discovered the hilarious comic genius of Natalie Dee a while ago and borrowed some of her bits here and here and here. Her hubby is equally funny - his site is called Toothpaste for Dinner.Here's a few of their recent comics that made me smile, and after all, TGIF! Smile with me :)You have to love this, with all these new TV shows telling us how to 'dress for your body type'... as if we're all various fruits!_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[...]

Girl in the box

2009-10-27T14:25:53.083Z

Last time I was back in Canada visiting the family I found a box of my old life. It had hundreds of dusty and molding papers, photos, clippings, print outs, and mostly poems I had written.I decided they would be worth keeping, if only for the humour and nostalgia in going over the thoughts and offerings of the teenage dreamer I was.The plan has been to scan the lot, and then send the paper piles back for a boxed existence in my mother’s basement on some back shelf.Last night I dragged out the various envelopes within, and sifted through. Most of the poems I found there were naïve and badly composed. They try too hard, with long adjectives and disjointed concepts. Who was that girl? I find it amazing that she lived in my frame, looked in the mirror and saw the young me. So much has changed and I have forgotten how she felt. All that is left is the paper trail of her untidy emotions.And then I found the following. It is dated April 22nd, 1994. I was 24 years old and Q was just over 1 year. We were living in an old row house in Toronto. The back window looked out over rusted train tracks and beyond that, lake Ontario. The highrises around us were overflowing with the city’s poorest and most marginalized. We dodged used needles and condoms that littered the sidewalks on our daily outtings. I remember having at first thought the neighborhood was vibrant and gritty, when we had opted to move out here, for cheaper rent but still within walking distance to work.We had recently lost our restaurant, investors had backed out right as the place was establishing itself as a fixture in the area. It was a few blocks over in the ‘trendy’ neighborhood of Queen West, and Q’s father, (my ex-locker partner and high school sweetheart) was on a slippery path to self destruction. It was the reason the business had fallen apart. Too much too young? Addiction: lies, behaviour changes followed. This particular day, he gathered our comforter from the bed and carried it with purpose to the living room with it’s big bay window. Q and I watched him with curiousity, and I with a sinking feeling in my stomach. He hoisted himself up on a chair, and stretched from his tippy toes to nail the heavy blanket across the top of the window frame. The smashing noise from the hammer was deafening and Q looked up at me, uneasy. I scooped him up and whisked him off to the other room to play. Then M walked by us. The light in the hallway had disappeared, shrouded in thick cloth.M: “That old lady from next door! She keeps watching us! Well, I’ll show her…”me: “What are you talking about?!”Door slam. He was gone for the afternoon. I could only guess where, and did not want to take that mental journey. I lied down beside Q and his stuffed animals and sang softly, running my hands gently through his loose black curls, until he drifted off to sleep. Then I got up and decided to write, to put things in perspective and keep myself sane:“His face was broad, the skin creamy and smooth and tight. This carefully beautiful face, created as if to make a mother question the sarcastic overtones of a ‘concept of God’.Oh, he was no ordinary soul. A mother was sure. Why, one only had to ponder the enormous circumference of his eyes. Not uncommon was it to be stopped several times during the daily walks, with comments of praise and astonishment at the wonder of his gaze.A mother again had to question her accomplishment. For even then she knew it was a twosome till death-do-us-part. Mother and child. Somehow she's known this while he played within her. Mompati - 'my companion', the name she'd given him after all the others on his birth papers.And she felt comfort in that shred of stability, as everything else slowly fogged over around her.”[...]

When Ordinary Art is Extraordinary

2009-10-26T15:27:56.489Z

I’ve been on a cyber journey for the past two months – seeking out interesting and exciting blogs to populate my link list and to inspire me in writing.I looked to ‘writing’ focused blogs and found a lot of highly motivated American mom/writers who get up every day and fold the laundry, pack the kids lunches, and find the ‘me’ time somewhere to work on their books. They talk of WIPs and ‘Me Time Thursdays’ and I feel small and excluded like junior high at recess…I looked into funny blogs – the witty ones who’s authors think of all the cute titles for their followers and have one liners to fit all life’s day to day drone. They leave me feeling amateur and ill-equipped to comment. They are outside the world of the PC moms, a world I like but am afraid to join.I stumbled upon racial focused blogs and made my small comments amidst those filled with angst and resentment.I even went over to the development bloggers – those who represent a past in me that I have yet to analyse and deconstruct. Hence I am skeptical and dismissive yet still drawn to their experiences and perspective. Yet there too I am an outsider. I loathe projects and funding and all the industry entails.I am an expat now – and looked to this group as well. The expat bloggers. I joined some sites, linked some great blogs. It is here I relate best to what is written, to the experiences and outlook.In my search I have found some great people, sites, inspiration.But I have been false in my intentions and I have been led astray. By the desire to fit somewhere, to get a blog award with a pretty tea cup on the picture and post it proudly on my blog, from an appreciative ‘blogger friend’. It is addictive this linking and commenting and creating of a network. But it is not why I started to blog. It has nothing to do with the powerful gut deep desire to express, to write, to create. To share genuinely what I have to share.And that is why today’s post is a dedication. To a blogger I randomly found, who has truly inspired me and made me regret my hours making small comments around the blogosphere. This is a woman in a small corner of the web, in a small town somewhere, who has not been blessed with a perfect life or millions of friends and followers. But she is a true writer. She is the essence of the word. She is a great, a classic, undiscovered. I feel like I’ve been busking and found the hidden diamond. I am torn between sharing and not. But it is not for me to hold her writing to my heart alone. After all, art is like life and should be shared, opened up and appreciated.Her name is Kelly and the site is humbly called Ordinary Art. Please read and digest the beauty and talent you find there. Real self-giving words that grace the page in a way I can only dream of. Share the link to this site. Send her a blog award. Or not. But she deserves recognition and a broader audience and I felt compelled today to do my little part.Kelly – thank you for genuine inspiration and a glimpse of your beautiful soul.[...]

My Apple turnovers are NOT sweet

2009-10-22T17:31:11.447Z

Apple computers are renowned for their reliability. They don’t freeze, they don’t crash. They make PC’s look like crippled dinosaurs. (All of these statements are up for debate, but are not the core topic of my rant). So when JW and I got matching Macbook Airs, we looked forward to the carefree ease of working with the Mac operating system, on these slim, slick new devices. And it started off well! It boots up in 30 seconds and closes down in 3! It has adorable icons and finger scroll features I love!I had always coveted these, since I first saw one – slim as a notebook and that cool metallic class… almost sexy I tell you. JW sees computers as he does all gadgets. He personifies them and gives them a peck now and then. He cleans them almost compulsively and makes sure all updates are current. He claims you must love and speak to your machines for them to respond and work for you. And his machines work for him. Seemingly forever. When he hands something down years later it looks brand new, no scratches, no apparent wear and tear. He even keeps all the boxes and manuals. I’ve written about his gadget mania here.But today we are talking about me. About the complete opposite. I see machines as a means to an end. I need to do e-mails for work, I love to write and surf the net – a computer lets me do that. Thanks computer. But kiss it? C’mon. Even my sexy MacAir, which I love, is still just a computer.I am beginning to believe there is something in JW’s theories though. I’ve had this machine for a few months. In that time it has experienced a myriad of bizarre glitches and freezes from time to time without explanation. Sometimes it flips. Goes crazy and starts calling me names. Then it’s functions break down one by one… If I cuddled it, would it be nicer?There is another popular theory (in my household) that electronics are allergic to me. That I emit some sort of evil radioactivity that cripples them temporarily in my presence. Only when I hold the TV remote does it get stuck on a channel, and the only fix is a complete shut down, reset… When I had a PC I easily blamed all the mysterious happenings on the inferiority of the software/hardware. Now that excuse is gone…JW’s Macbook has only ‘misbehaved’ twice, and I was present both times. He was not amused.Should I feel powerful or cursed? Special or freakish?All I know is that I’ve stopped reporting all the bizarre things that happen with me and the electronics around us. It’s become my dirty little secret. My private little hell. I secretly wonder if I should choose the back seats in airplanes, just so I don’t inadvertently tamper with the cockpit electronics…Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to break my diet with some red red for lunch.[...]

Today’s lesson in cultural imperialism

2009-10-20T16:49:19.057Z

We have a couple of lovely visitors staying with us from the land down under. They were both raised on rural dairy farms and are quite down to earth.I have been asking about the cultural relations between the Aboriginal population and those of European ancestry in Australia. Their perspective is quite honest and derived from personal experience as opposed to academic. They are not concerned with political correctness or viewing relations objectively. I find their candidness refreshing.Last night I heard the following story: in the white farming community where our visitor *Pamela grew up, there was an Aboriginal grouping quite close by, living on what they called a ‘reserve’.The story goes, that when one of the influential and well known Aboriginal chiefs died, the priest from Pamela’s village insisted that he officiate at the funeral, and ‘splashed out’ on a fancy, expensive coffin of hardwood and a plush interior for the chief.After the funeral, the priest made a courtesy visit to the chief’s family some time later. What he found was that the body had been dug up and the children of the chief’s family were found in the coffin, splashing around in their makeshift bathtub.Imagine the shock for the priest! I’m sure he was incredulous. To this date, the majority of whites assume that the people were simply ignorant, uncultured and ‘wild’…_______________________________________________________________________________So after Pamela’s narration of the story , I decided to investigate/research the beliefs and practices surrounding death and burial amongst Australia’s Aboriginal groups.What I found cemented the notion I had about the blatant cultural/religious imposition. Aboriginal groups have a completely different concept of what happens to body and soul after death and the traditional practices differ widely and wildly from the Christian conservatives who settled in these areas and proceeded to set up missions.I found a highly detailed article online here (for those of you who might find this interesting), about the complicated funeral of an influential Aboriginal chief in 1997.Basically, after a Christian funeral (to appease the ‘whitefellas’), the body is transported to a specially selected cave, removed from the coffin (which is simply a mode of carriage to the spot), and arranged on a high platform, protected from animals and exposed to drying wind. After two years the bones are collected and ceremonially treated, and then presented to the family of the deceased in an elaborate ceremony of mourning and remembrance. Traditional belief sees the body being locked up in a box and sunk ‘six feet under’ as against the natural procession for body and soul.Can’t blame them really…Find here a very concise and well presented site on statistics regarding Aboriginal Australians.*Any names of real people in this story have been changed to protect their identity.[...]

The Cobra the beans and the belly

2009-10-19T15:21:09.055Z

So today is Monday. We promised (JW and I as a team) that the diet starts Monday. It was with conviction, after a few months of excess and due to the fact that our clothes are stretching to the limit to accommodate our girth…So this morning my colleague comes to my desk, and assaults me with an offer I find I can’t refuse. Red red from the roadside seller in Osu. For lunch. Today. “Ok! Great, thanks.” I’m all excited. All those vows taken last night, as I chomped on a biscuit smothered in butter, with accompanying warm tea…forgotten in an instant.But how could I fall so quickly? Day one, meal two?? (Breakfast was a very controlled scrambled egg. Plain. With water and multivitamins).“Oh, but I shouldn’t. My diet started today.” Laughter from colleagues ensues… You see, this 'diet starting Monday' may have had quite a few public false starts…The thing is that this red red from this seller is not something you can resist.Red red is a local Ghanaian dish consisting of a tomatoey bean stew, served with fried plantains. Not low cal stuff. It’s yummy.The famous seller has been sitting at her tiny outdoor stall, serving up the delicious stuff in bright green banana leaves, for literally YEARS. She sits on a bumpy untarred dead end road, near the old American Embassy in Osu (before they built their new fortress of epic proportions). People come from miles around.. (My colleague being a case in point. I will call him Ernie here, to protect his innocence).On Friday Ernie mentioned going there and how amazing the food was – the smell, the texture as he indulged with his hands, scooping the beans from the waxy leaf, just like the good old days. The experience transported him to his youth and the carefree days of school.As he was narrating the story, another colleague walked by and said:“You know what you are eating!” in a warning tone and walked off. Ernie called her back.“No, come back! Tell us what!”A small crowd of us gathered. All the Ghanaians knew what she was going to say. I was the only clueless one (A common occurrence for me here!).“The cobra under the table!”Everyone laughed. It is apparently common knowledge/superstition/rumour that this woman uses juju (in this case a mystical cobra snake that hides in her stall), to get her customers craving her food and coming back for more.I was amazed at this silly belief people hold, creating a witchhunt mentality – just because someone is doing well and has maintained a customer base.Now it’s Monday. I am supposed to be on day one of a strict and purposeful diet, and yet my mouth has been watering since first thing this morning at the mere suggestion of the red red…Perhaps there’s more to this juju thing than I care to admit???On the other hand I could just be a typical diet failure, losing the willpower before it began!!!The diet starts Tuesday.[...]

Stumps to spark action abroad - Ghanaians plant the seed locally!

2009-10-15T18:16:58.204Z

A petite pervasive Scottish blond woman arrived on Ghanaian soil two years ago with a vision. A bizarre and complicated vision.She wanted to uproot 10 massive rainforest tree stumps, and have them shipped to the UK. (Each is the size of a gnarled house – note the size of a man beside the uprooted stump in the photo)…Her name is Angela Palmer and her vision is about to be realized, and the fruits of her labour will comprise the Ghost Forest Project, to be on display in London in November.What!?! Yes, I am not kidding. At a cost of £250,000 for the transport aspect alone, not to mention the logistical nightmare encountered getting them out of the forest, the manpower involved and even libations poured to angered gods in the area….What is the point of this seemingly indulgent and over-the-top endeavour?Art.Oh, and the desire to highlight issues of deforestation.The stumps will be displayed in Trafalgar Square in London from November 16th to 22nd, and then moved once again to Thorvaldsens Plads, Copenhagen, Denmark to coincide with UN Climate Change conference.Many questions need to be raised here. What is the carbon footprint of this project? What are the costs in total and could the funds have been better allocated in a campaign to highlight climate change?What is the desired and measurable effect? Is it a mad delusional artist’s self indulgent dream or is it an important and unprecedented step in exposing the issues at hand? What are the issues at hand? Deforestation in the tropics accounts for nearly 20 per cent of carbon emissions due to human activities. That’s quite a staggering figure. Considering that Ghana has lost 90% of its virgin rainforest in the past 50 years, there is definitely a need for a change in practise.This exhibit will definitely be eye-catching and thought provoking, both in London and Copenhagen. But here where we need it – here where the deforestation persists and where the affects of global climate change will be most harshly felt – what will be the benefit? Ghanaians know nothing of this project or it’s aims. Apart from those involved in moving these mammoth stumps from the rural areas down to the Takoradi port and schlepping them onboard the cargo ships, it has slipped under the radar. It has missed it’s chance to shock and educate and to inform.I get visions of Live 8 back in 2005, aimed at raising awareness and money to eliminate African poverty, yet not one African band or contributor was included.If we want to make a difference in the so-called third world, we need to involve, include and make accountable the communities that need it most.All is not lost though. In 2008, Ghana became the first country in Africa to enter the VPA (Voluntary Partnership Agreement) with the European Union in an effort to outlaw illegal logging, which incidentally still accounts for over half its harvested timber.This year, the John Bitar company in Western Ghana where the tree stumps were excavated from, began one of the world's largest private reforestation programmes, which involves planting 25 million trees on degraded land over the next five years. Meanwhile, back home for me in Accra, on a street I walk by all the time, a massive majestic wonder of a tree was unceremoniously hacked down earlier this year, at the edge of a residential plot. The tree was so big that it blocked the street for days while teams of men hacked the giant corpse into small enough pieces to carry away. The roots were so hard and big and old, that thy abandoned the job from about 4 feet to the ground…I kept waiting to see what would be built there in it’s place. What on earth could justify cutting a tree that was centuries old and provided shade and a home to wildlife all it’s days.Today, on Blogger Action Day, I walked by the familiar c[...]

Ghana shines in Cadbury pop video!

2009-10-11T17:49:03.451Z

I found this catchy, cute, well put together video - thanks to fellow Ghana blogger Prissy over at her great site SIMPLY PRISSY. Great to see a Ghana goat in gold sequins and an animated cocoa bean galloping through a typical village street in a music video!

Found some info. about it here.



Cadbury is celebrating the move to fair trade chocolate with the launch of Glass and A Half Records, an album inspired by the music of Africa. The first single, “Zingolo”, celebrates all things Ghana, its people, its rappers, its dancers, its cultural figures and, of course, its cocoa beans.

The initiative is aimed at emphasising Cadbury’s 101 year-history of trading with Ghanaian cocoa farmers. Starring villagers of a Ghanian village, all proceeds from the Zingolo single at iTunes will go to charity Care, which works with the cocoa communities in Ghana.

The campaign also features print ads designed and painted by Ghanaians using traditional Ghanaian techniques.

Phil Rumbol, marketing director for Cadbury says: “We wanted to celebrate Cadbury Dairy Milk’s Fairtrade certification and Ghana, the heart of our Fairtrade cocoa, in a unique way. Music has always been a big part of Glass and a Half Full Productions and we were inspired by Ghana’s love of music so it seemed the perfect way to capture the spirit of the country was through a track. We hope we’ll bring a smile to people’s faces.” Cadbury Dairy milk is now Fairtrade in the UK and Ireland and will extend this to Canada Australia and New Zealand in 2010.


I'm going to reserve my comments about the charity aspect of the video, with proceeds going toward Care International, but interestingly, all the credits on the video are for people and post production outside Ghana...

Credits

The Zingolo campaign was developed at Fallon, London, by executive creative director Richard Flintham, creative directors Chris Bovill, John Allison, creatives Filip Tyden, Dan Watts, Chris Bovill, John Allison, account director Nathalie Clarke, agency producer Tom Goodwin, executive producer Nicky Barnes and agency producer Gemma Knight.

Filming was shot by director Ringan Ledwidge via Rattling Stick with producer Sally Humphries with director of photography Franz Lustig.

Editor was Rich Orrick at Work Post. Post production was done at The Mill, London.

Music was composed by Paul Epwort and produced by Alex Lavery and Simon Rose at Pitch & Sync. Audio post-production was produced by Parv Thind at Wave Studios.

Media planner was Ellie Roberts at PHD.

Penguins, Pink Tongues and ATMs - a great wedding all round

2009-10-10T21:02:57.053Z

Not surprisingly I survived the wedding. Not only survived, but actually enjoyed it. I mean hey, it was a week long holiday to one of the most beautiful cities in the world, in the company of all my boys. Ideal almost!It was Q’s first time south of the equator and he kept obsessing about figuring out whether water goes down the drain in the opposite direction from the northern hemisphere. In the end I don’t think it was ever figured out. We were too busy having a blast.We stayed in a bunch of amazingly trendy flats in an area of Cape Town called De Waterkant (Afrikaans, and absolutely rude when pronounced properly (duh vah ter kuhnt) to us English speakers!) Q had a field day with that one! Their website lists the properties as ideal for ‘gay stay’ which was quite far from our agenda, but nonetheless, we found out the area had other ideas… The area used to be quite rough, but has been cleaned up recently and lots of cafes, cute shops and boutique hotels line the streets. The owners are a friendly enough gay couple, who have an array of gay focused brochures and newspapers, and while we sat in the office on a serious note, discussing a potential theft of camera SD cards, I couldn’t help but pick up a copy of the Pink Tongue!!But I definitely digress.We went for a wedding and it was a great one. It was all a bit last minute and why not?! Stress shouldn’t be part of the party to unite two souls in my opinion. The day before the nuptials, we were huddled around an ATM en mass, trying to draw enough cash to pay the stubborn wedding planners who told us just then that thy didn’t take credit cards… On the morning of the wedding, the ceremony was e-mailed to the officiating friend to read and remember, and on the way to the venue with our bride in tow, she let us know she’d forgotten a cake. No worries! We pulled over at a bakery in Simonstown and picked up a cute little chocolate lemon cake, which the wedding venue decorated with flowers and which came in handy later, for bride and groom to cut symbolically together and smear in each other’s faces. All in good fun.The ceremony itself, at Boulder’s Beach, with the penguins and other visitors to the park as the background audience, was blessed with the best weather in Cape Town one could ever hope for. No wind, lots of sun… It looked like a movie scene… Our bride looked beautiful. The whole backdrop was surreal. I don't think you could have asked for better. I volunteered as photographer while JW and our boy's mom sat upfront to proudly ‘give away’ their son. I saved my hugs and pride for later, and wiped away the happy tears from behind my lense…And the after party put all family differences in the bin, while we bonded and danced and drank and danced some more until it was midnight and the DJ called it a night… I think we could have gone on for hours.The best part of this trip was seeing all the boys bond. In step-families it can go wrong so easily. It can make life uneasy and put all the relationships on edge. In our case however it has always gone well. Everyone gets along. Everyone accepts and gets on with life. And on this trip everyone had the chance to hang out (which isn't often now that the big boys are scattered across North America and we are here on the dark continent), to support each other, to be proud and to feel the love that family represents. I felt something shift. We’d all become closer. We’d all grown and we’d gained even more respect for each other. And that is good enough for me![...]

Penguin wedding - step parent wedding etiquette goes south

2009-09-30T16:20:55.922Z

We're in the last throws of packing and closing up everything in the house. In a few hours we'll be above the clouds, heading south. All the way from Africa's west coast to it's southern most tip.

This weekend my stepson is getting married. Not only does this make me feel old! It is also a sentimental occasion and one of those important life defining moments. The children are growing up!!!

The wedding will be very non-traditional which suits me just fine - never having been a traditionalist, nor remotely religious.

Family members from both sides will gather, some from the other side of the world - as the bride is American.

They are having the wedding and reception at a national park - home of the African penguins. You gotta love that. A bunch of guys in tuxedos and matching penguins wobbling about. I'm looking forward to that.

But there is the minor issue of being the step-mom', It's not the most highly regarded position in a family if you know what I mean. Yesterday - when I had WAY more time, I had the idea of writing some witty post about the topic but then I got sidetracked when I found a number of websites outlining the etiquette for step parents at a wedding!!

I couldn't believe it - but if you go HERE you can see a good example.

Who knew I was supposed to sit on a back seat, bow out of the receiving line and most probably wear beige.

The bottom line is that you should try to blend in with the surroundings. In this case, maybe I should go as a penguin?

Well - etiquette and family feuding aside, I'm excited for the young couple - all those hopes and dreams ahead of them!

I plan to have a stiff cocktail near the very beginning and enjoy the day in their honour.

Be back in a week.

xo

The meaning of life is 42

2009-09-27T19:00:28.200Z

I've been getting lots of 'things about me' chain mails and facebook links... Some are 100 things, some are 25 things, some are 50 things. So I decided to post my own. Only I've heard that the meaning of life is 42. That's exactly as many points as I could muster up. Apparently this is a pay it forward type thing and apparently I'm months behind as everyone has already done this... so here goes my late to the finish line contribution... 1. I have no fear of rats and mice, but I’m convinced cockroaches and earwigs are the devil’s spawn2. And I’m not even religious!3. Chocolate though, it’s gotta be from heaven. 70% is the closest of all to heavenly…4. I fractured my skull falling from a lifeguard’s chair when I was seven.5. Apart from my head I’ve never had a broken bone.6. I’ve never tried any drugs except for marijuana, and it had me believing I could see the entire Captain Hook movie unfolding along the ashphalt as we drove down the road, my head hanging out the window. I realized it wasn’t for me…7. I love red wine – especially Malbec and good Shiraz, but to be honest the third glass could be anything – it all starts to taste the same.8. I only like flowers growing. I think cut flowers are wasteful and pointless.9. One of my favourite childhood pastimes was popping tar bubbles on the side of the road. Although my friend and I missed entire lunchtimes doing this and got separated by our parents for the walks to and from school as a punishment.10. One of my other favourite childhood pastimes was collecting worms after the rain in jars… I was a bit weird.11. I refused braces even though my bottom teeth are all ‘higgelty piggelty’ according to my husband.12. Once in a restaurant I owned with my ex, a man fell down the stairs and cracked his head open. One of the waiters shouted to me at the bar, “Call 911!!!!” I shouted back in a panic, “What’s the number?!!”13. Cilantro is a love or hate thing. I LOVE it. Beets are the same, but I HATE them.14. Sports have never been my thing. As a kid I failed at ballet, tennis, t-ball, soccer and synchronized swimming. Since the age of 13 I have pretty much avoided all sports like the plague.15. I have a big horizontal scar across my right knee from an operation I had at 16 to remove a calcium deposit – the result of a soccer injury!16. I’ve never been a very feminine lady. I don’t wear make up and always feel like a kid wearing her mom’s make up when I do try for special occasions.17. I hate to chew gum, it gives me a headache.18. I can’t whistle. I just look funny and air comes out of my mouth.19. I can’t play video games, it makes my chin quiver involuntarily.20. My 20th birthday was spent in a village in Botswana where I was volunteering for a year with Crossroads International21. I have had two to three recallable dreams a night ever since I can remember. Most are not profound.22. I like movies that are realistic or based on true stories. I hate Sci-fi and action films.23. I owned a gas station as a single mom for three years when I was 25.24. My first boyfriend was in kindergarten. He was from Nigeria and his name was Nigel. His family was the only non-white family in the small Ontario town I lived in.25. I was an only child until I was 8.26. I’ve always been enamoured with Africa.27. I hate gambling. Never understood the fascination with casinos. 28. No one can convince me that creationism should be taught along side evolution in a science class.29. I find dogmatic religions to be insulting and controlling.30. I’m a fan of British comedy. Ricky Gervais and Eddie Izzard are my favourites.31. I have an arm band tattoo of dancing stickmen, all holding[...]

How NOT to Write About Africa

2009-09-23T22:02:08.192Z

Not feeling particularly inspired to write myself tonight, I stumbled upon a brilliant piece of writing that I had found and read once before but had not recorded, and thought was lost to me. I was so happy to find it again. It is actually quite famous in some circles concerned with Africa, and it’s bitter satire hits close to home when you are an expat writing in general about Africa.The piece was written in 2003 by Binyavanga Wainaina, a Kenyan author and journalist.Many of you will know this piece (and it is always worth re-reading!), but for those of you who don’t, especially the writers and those who are not familiar with Africa – this is an eye opening commentary on how the west has portrayed Africa for so long. To me, it needs to be read, sarcasm and all. The stereotypes are disturbing and 'in-your-face'. It’s brilliant. HOW TO WRITE ABOUT AFRICAAlways use the word 'Africa' or 'Darkness' or 'Safari' in your title. Subtitles may include the words 'Zanzibar', 'Masai', 'Zulu', 'Zambezi', 'Congo', 'Nile', 'Big', 'Sky', 'Shadow', 'Drum', 'Sun' or 'Bygone'. Also useful are words such as 'Guerrillas', 'Timeless', 'Primordial' and 'Tribal'. Note that 'People' means Africans who are not black, while 'The People' means black Africans.Never have a picture of a well-adjusted African on the cover of your book, or in it, unless that African has won the Nobel Prize. An AK-47, prominent ribs, naked breasts: use these. If you must include an African, make sure you get one in Masai or Zulu or Dogon dress.In your text, treat Africa as if it were one country. It is hot and dusty with rolling grasslands and huge herds of animals and tall, thin people who are starving. Or it is hot and steamy with very short people who eat primates. Don't get bogged down with precise descriptions. Africa is big: fifty-four countries, 900 million people who are too busy starving and dying and warring and emigrating to read your book. The continent is full of deserts, jungles, highlands, savannahs and many other things, but your reader doesn't care about all that, so keep your descriptions romantic and evocative and unparticular.Make sure you show how Africans have music and rhythm deep in their souls, and eat things no other humans eat. Do not mention rice and beef and wheat; monkey-brain is an African's cuisine of choice, along with goat, snake, worms and grubs and all manner of game meat. Make sure you show that you are able to eat such food without flinching, and describe how you learn to enjoy it—because you care.Taboo subjects: ordinary domestic scenes, love between Africans (unless a death is involved), references to African writers or intellectuals, mention of school-going children who are not suffering from yaws or Ebola fever or female genital mutilation.Throughout the book, adopt a sotto voice, in conspiracy with the reader, and a sad I-expected-so-much tone. Establish early on that your liberalism is impeccable, and mention near the beginning how much you love Africa, how you fell in love with the place and can't live without her. Africa is the only continent you can love—take advantage of this. If you are a man, thrust yourself into her warm virgin forests. If you are a woman, treat Africa as a man who wears a bush jacket and disappears off into the sunset. Africa is to be pitied, worshipped or dominated. Whichever angle you take, be sure to leave the strong impression that without your intervention and your important book, Africa is doomed.Your African characters may include naked warriors, loyal servants, diviners and seers, ancient wise men living in hermitic splendour. Or corrupt politicians, inept polygamous travel-guide[...]

Drive-by shopping in Accra

2009-09-22T20:01:42.232Z

Yesterday was a holiday - there was holiday traffic in Accra. Today was a business day - there was weekday traffic in Accra.We left the office midday to head off to a meeting - but the roads had different ideas of how we should spend the next hour and it wasn't sitting around a boardroom table. That would come later (after we'd made calls apologizing for being late due to traffic).In the meantime -I thought I'd expand on a post I once did - that listed all the items for sale by hawkers in traffic...This time it's a visual account. Enjoy!!When traffic came to a standstill, the hawkers lined the streets fully ready for business... Tiger nuts. These fibrous little balls grow in the ground and taste like coconut... Personally my mouth just ends up full of dry little bits after a while. Not my snack of choice...Pillows. This guy was definitely hoping for a bulk sale. He was swamped by his wares!Pirated DVDs - usually with three sets of indistinguishable subtitles embeded... they sell pretty much anything from Africa movies to American series, but the 'shoot 'em up movies seem to sell best...Designer ties! No less than Burberry, Gucci and Giorgio Armani. Notice the white gloves for his delicate merchandise."Wanna buy a watch" - I get visions of a guy in a long trench-coat.Loved this seller's t-shirt. Canadian Idol!! He had a complete barbering set and a scale for sale...A single pair of men's shoes. He was really convinced I might want them. How did he know they were my size?! :)Shoes for the whole family. Now that's more like it!! Especially liked the USA flip-flops.Boiled peanuts (which are quite good and as addictive as any snack food), and dictionaries...Ties.Popcorn (sweet or salty)Plastic wall clock. Like gold!Unrefrigerated yogurt drink. I always fear the wrong kinds of active bacteria will be in there after a day in the sun in traffic...Basketballs, footballs (Soccer balls) - these must do well...Salted cashews and cashew butter - yum!Handkerchiefs - everyone seems to have one in Ghana for everything from sweat removal to nose blowing.Various power bars and sockets and even a universal television remote. This guy was a walking hardware store.This was my favourite. The portable gym - Tummy Trimmer AND a scale to check if it's working!!!Last but not least - the lord Jesus poster. The bigger the better for your lounge.[...]

The Streets of Ghana today - Ramadan Kareem!

2009-09-21T23:08:29.097Z

Today was a public holiday in Ghana. In fact it was a dual holiday - on the one hand (the Muslim one), Ghana celebrated the end of Ramadan with the Eid ul-Fitr end of fasting celebrations. Ghana's Muslim population makes up about 45 percent of the population of about 22 million. And on the other hand (the political one), Ghana celebrated Kwame Nkrumah's (Ghana's first president at the time of independence from Colonialism) Birthday.We headed off to enjoy the holiday for neither purpose really, but figured we'd head down to a friend's beach house all the same.What we encountered however was a traffic jam like no other... Apparently the mosque had just let out and we turned down the wrong (or right!) road.While JW cooled his heels in the stop-start traffic for about 45 minutes along a 500 metre stretch of road, I snapped happily away with my versatile iPhone...Accra's Muslim community were out in full force in killer outfits.Below - some of the scenes of the day:A lady stops to buy some fresh paw paw (papaye) from a roadside seller.Someone is watching me too!This lady is dressed to kill! Great shades and earrings!The guys move in groups...And the ladies too!Even the little girls are all dolled up for the day. Looking lovely.A senior lady in some gorgeous cloth...And new moms dressed up with baby in tow!This young guy was all dressed up and had his prayer mat ready.And finally - as we started to move and the throngs of people thinned - this truck drove by with a 'humbling' message...Ramadan Kareem Ghana![...]

When a dictionary doesn't help - language across cultures

2009-09-18T13:32:37.192Z

Living in a foreign country provides so many opportunities to look at language – specifically the language you take for granted as your own – in my case English – and look critically at how it is taken for granted as universally understood.The truth is that language is more of a cultural and societal construct than we realize.Last night I got a call from one of my Ghanaian colleagues:Me: Hello?GC: HelloMe: Yes, hello?GC: Good eveningMe: Good evening(This exact banter comprises the beginning of every telephone conversation in Ghana – except if it’s morning, then there is the good morning greeting…_If you are very unlucky, the hello, hello, hello can go back and forth up to 10 times. I’m not kidding)GC: Holli, please can you tell me, what is a jackass?Me: (amused) What?! A jackass is like an idiot, why?GC: OH! That is serious then! Well I was reading on the Internet that President Obama called Kanye West that word.Me: Well it’s true. He is a jackass. But Obama did not say that officially! It was ‘off the record’GC: Off the what? Me: Nevermind. Is that all? Don’t you guys know the word jackass?GC: No not at all. Is it anything like baloney? (This refers to a conversation we had two years ago when George Bush visited Ghana and in his speech said that the rumors that the US wanted to build a military base in Ghana was ‘a bunch of baloney’. This was totally lost on most of Ghana…)Me: (Laughing) No! Not like baloney…GC: Also, what does he mean when he says ‘cut the President some slack’?Me: Oh, well he just means to give him a break, not be so hard on him…GC: Wow. Americans have some funny English! Perhaps they do… It’s just that phrases we know seem so normal, so obvious…When I hung up I decided to write a little list of phrases that are common in Ghana in English, that I found bizarre when I arrived:1. 'We know ourselves' – meaning we know each other2. 'We’ll advise ourselves' – meaning we’ll reconsider or think twice3. 'That girl is tough' – meaning she is chubby or big4. 'I’m getting bored' – meaning getting annoyed5. 'Please, I’ll alight here' – used in a vehicle, meaning I’ll get off/out here6. 'I’m going to buy provisions' – nice fancy old colonial word for groceries7. 'Bend right or pass right or curve right or branch right' - when giving directions it means simply to go right8. 'I had a blast last night' - refers to a tire blow-out on a car, NOT a fun time!9. 'He is a 'blow-man' - this refers to a fighter - used alot when identifying characters in action movies10. 'What's for chop? What did you chop?' - referring to food - what's for supper, what did you eat? Can anyone else give me some examples of how English is a whole different thing, depending on the where and when??[...]

E-mom - Are parents on facebook a no-no?

2009-09-17T16:45:59.836Z

Well it’s apparently official – I’m an E-mom. This is not a good thing. It makes me feel like someone who’s past their prime, trying to be young, hip and cool (a cougar? - hanging out in nightclubs thinking they pass for 20 something but just not cutting it in their leopard skin tights...). The thing is that I joined facebook quite a while ago. I have a network or friends and contacts… My children also joined facebook. The opportunities for overlapping were there… Of course they accepted my friend requests, and some of their friends even ‘friended’ me… so I thought it was all ok.But I was wrong. Apparently if you have children, you must be old and by proxy, have no business using social networking sites – because your children are on there and that is their domain … and you are a stalker!!!Watch this news piece on the phenomenon below…Are all mothers so uncool? I just feel lumped into this category now - ashamed and utterly uncool. I feel like the pimply pre-teen outcast in Grade 7… who has tried to join the chat in the cafeteria with the cool girls, and they all turn and look at you in stony silence.Should I retreat? Give it all up to spare my children the embarrassment?The real issue is that once parents are on facebook, any photos of their children that are uploaded (and tagged), can be viewed and even saved by their parents… And I admit guilt here. Our college aged son is half a world away, across continents even! We are really easy going, non-pedantic, open minded parents. But it’s nice to ‘see what their up to’ from time to time… there have been a few times it would have been better NOT to see though… The truth is that those years are all about finding your footing. Learning how much partying you can get away with, and still make it through to a degree. I suppose if you come out the other end having had fun and succeeded, then no harm done.But how would I feel if the shoe were on the other foot? If my parents could have seen into my social world when I was a teenager – with evidence of every out of control party, and tweets professing that I was too hung over to get to class … well. I guess I would be equally horrified. I am so glad the world has only taken this turn toward complete social invasion – with constant updates and photo proof of everyone’s movements – AFTER I got through the teenage years and college.Not sure my parents would still be talking to me if they’d seen what I see now![...]

Ghana Photo of the day

2009-09-16T22:24:22.469Z

We encountered quite a few signs like this on our 5 hour Sunday drive back to Accra from Axim this weekend. Could never find out why (there was a shortage)... but it happens from time to time. Ignorance is bliss for me when it comes to matters like this anyway.

At least they were polite about it...



And inside the shop they had warm coke (power was off), and melting chocolates for the drive! :)

When love is illegal - Homosexuality in Ghana today

2009-09-15T20:07:06.993Z

Being gay is illegal in Ghana. Under Ghanaian law, male homosexual activity is officially illegal. Criminal Code 1960 - Chapter 6, Sexual Offences Article 105 mentions unnatural carnal knowledge – and homosexuality is included in this description. Coming from Canada, one of the most liberal countries in the world (especially with regard to homosexuality see map of sexual freedoms here), it’s almost shocking to me. The topic does not impact my life directly, but I am a definite believer in human rights, and so the subject holds a certain importance.This topic can spark heated debates if ever broached with Ghanaian colleagues in my office – though I am usually a lone warrior for the cause, inevitably against a tirade of Christian rhetoric about the evils of homosexuality and the belief that it is an illness that can be cured, or at least prayers can be said to cure a person of it.Today I came across this article on Ghana’s popular Joy FM site. I found it interesting both that the issue is in the forefront of the news in Ghana today, and that there is now an official Gay and Lesbian Association of Ghana (GALAG), with a spokesperson who is not afraid to appear in public. This says something.The article points out that Ghana’s heros have come out publicly in support of gay and lesbian rights, “Nelson Mandela said that he considered “homosexuality to be just another form of sexuality that has been suppressed for years”; Kofi Annan, a former UN General Secretary, supported gay rights with a move to extend benefits to the same-sex partners of UN staff; and as well as signing the UN declaration calling for the decriminalisation of homosexuality, Obama also recently spoke at a Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) Pride event, describing homophobia as an example of “worn arguments and old attitudes”.Yet deeply entrenched cultural attitudes in Ghana die hard. There is a widespread belief in Ghana that homosexuality is a morally deprived lifestyle choice of the west. That it is not something inherently African, but a cultural export from Europe and the Americas. Interestingly there are more and more vocal African raised advocates for gay rights - including Cheikh Traoré, a half Nigerian, half Mauritian Muslim, raised in West Africa. He is currently an AIDS educator in the UK, and speaks openly on growing up gay. Locally though, tolerance for diversity can be lacking. A Ghanaian born and bred gay man describes his alienating experiences in this article. BBC even covered an article on the subject last year. The official line in Ghana – even from the minister of human rights – is that Ghana is ‘not ready’ for Gay and Lesbians as an accepted group. Again, it is individuals that suffer.My amazement in all this, is that in general, Ghanaians are far more comfortable with human closeness than any western culture. It is a common sight in Ghana to see two grown men, walking down the street hand in hand, or with their hands lingering in embrace when they greet an old friend. None of this is seen to threaten a man’s sexuality. I love this about Ghanaians. In contrast, in North America and the UK, where opinion is supposedly more liberal, straight men would never been seen in such close contact with a male friend. They commonly squirm and cower away from male to male hugs, and insist on a rough pat on the back just to assert their ‘maleness’. In Ghana, in certain instances, cross-dressing is accepted if not named. In the heart of Jamestow[...]

5 hours of Ghanaian roadside...life as art through the window screen

2009-09-13T23:10:37.669Z

Whenever we make the westward drive down Ghana’s coast, I am reminded of one of my favourite childhood books – Where the Wild Things Are. Not because there are wild things (though certain things you see along that road could be considered quite wild), but because we pass through long stretches of thick rainforest. The wall of trees makes me feel like Max in the wolf costume, watching the imaginary forest grow, and I expect the huge yellow-eyed monsters to come lumbering through the branches… I am always jolted back to reality when the forest is broken by a village, straddling the road, goats, chicken, children, women in rollers and men in ill-fitted suits… a slice of rural life, cut through by the rushing 4x4 we inhabit. This weekend, after a presentation in Takoradi to the Oil and Gas sector (in my pseudo professional capacity), we headed further along the coast. Our destination: Lou Moon Lodge near Axim. It’s a wonderful oasis among the chaos that is Ghana. It’s run by a Belgian couple who have worked out perfectly how to take the best of the quaint village (using traditional thatch structures and local rock formations), and mix it with the sophistication and calm of a European spa. With no electricity in the area, they run all modern amenities completely on generator. They have also lucked out with a great little corner of Ghana’s mostly rough coastline. The 11 room hotel is built on a tiny, calm bay where you can swim without fear of the undercurrent sucking you along with it. Anyone visiting Ghana should make the 5 hour drive from the capital Accra – it’s worth the headaches in traffic and the increasing police roadblocks cum extortion points…What always strikes me on these trips are the massive contrasts; the (not always peaceful) meeting of two worlds. The modern meets the ancient, the haves meet the have-nots, or more accurately, the haves pass swiftly by the have-nots on the roadside.As we left the resort after 24 hours of pure rest and relaxation, I noticed a young guy from the sea side village next door, standing at the top of the unpaved hill. He was maneuvering himself to get cell phone coverage, which is intermittent at best... It dawned on me as we bumped along further in 4 wheel drive, that there is no electricity for miles. How do they charge mobile phones?? This is a village that is bathed only in moonlight from 6pm each evening. Where traditional drums are used for ceremonies and for calling villagers to attention. Yet he had a cellphone. Contrast! Ghana...Below, a snapshot of the Ghana we drove through, to and from the resort.Beautiful regal trees, tower above everything - remnants of the thick massive rainforest of the past...But in some places, too much human waste is winning the battle against nature...Sometimes the colours of the village are like a live painting - vibrant and beautiful and almost defying description.There is always an array of snacks to buy - this lady sells roasted plantain and in the characterstic blue plastic bags - fante kenkey - a dish famous in the western and central regions - it is a firm maize porridge, fermented and wrapped in plantain leaves and then sold in the blue bags. No less than 100 ladies tout these pyramids along the coast.Another fante kenkey seller, Ama Adoma, where we bought two bags on special request from a Ghanaian colleague back in Accra. (Many of the ladies name their stand after themselves, or a suitably hopeful religious quote).Closer to Acc[...]

Gratitude - Holli's Ramblings featured on a Canadian design blog

2009-09-10T19:33:35.396Z

Hi Readers! I feel like a junior celebrity today. Ok, very junior. Today my humble blog was visited by the author of a well read, well written Canadian design blog, Poppytalk and she took the time to look around, read some of my ramblings and... yes - post about me!!

It feels great to see my blog header there, in plain view, in colour, on a real website!

I do realise I've exposed myself as a small-timer here, reveling in an imagined 15 minutes (seconds?) of fame... but hey! Take it where you can get it.

Now it's up to me to step up to the keyboard, and write down all the crazy stories that have made up the patchwork of my 13 years here.

Thanks Poppytalk and thanks Ghana for giving me so much material to work with!!!

'Dragging' Caster Semanya through the media

2009-09-07T21:53:47.772Z

Two weeks ago when the gender controversy about South Africa's 800m runner Caster Semanya was bubbling, the biggest concern out of South Africa was the humiliation that she would feel, with her gender and indeed her entire sense of self being questioned.Numerous sources cited other examples of how this public scrutiny could damage a person's psyche - the most poignant being the recent case of Santhi Soundarajan who was stripped of her silver medal in the 800m in 2006 after failing a gender test, and later attempted suicide.All interviews with Caster's family, friends and community at large have described her as a tomboy - a girl who favoured trousers and football to lipstick and boyfriends... They were all adamant that she is a girl, and that the world should abandon the ridiculous and judgemental notions of what a girl should look like, be like...So it shocked me today when I was flipping through the channels on DSTV (the South African pay-TV platform that broadcasts across Africa), and came across a commercial for YOU Magazine. The woman's weekly mag was promoting their latest issue, "WOW - LOOK AT CASTER NOW! Athletics star Caster Semenya as you’ve never seen her before – transformed by YOU from powergirl to glamour girl". The photos show a glammed up Caster, looking about as uncomfortable as humanly possible.What pathetic exploitation! You take a very masculine woman (her appearance and interests being the main aspects that brought about the questioning to begin with), and then completely take the humiliation to a new level by dressing her up in sequin dresses, dripping make up and size 13 stilettos...I'm guessing Caster's appearance in this photo shoot is about as far from her personality and style as is possible. Whatever possessed them?It completely makes a mockery of the athlete. The bottom line is that, in order to try to prove to the world that Caster is female, they have made her a laughable media pawn, looking more like Wesley Snipes in drag in the comedy 'To Wong Foo', than any glamour girl.Sad. To me, it seems all they have done is perpetuated the rigid gender roles that someone like Caster never fit by nature, and forced her into the mold - the result being a complete disaster, at the expense of yet again, her identity, dignity and sense of self.[...]

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