GhanaBlogging

Hatsoff

FashionistaGH — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 10:24:54 +0000

Hatsoff

Hatsoff http://ntflowers.blogspot.com/Tel:…

FashionistaGH — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 10:19:37 +0000

Hatsoff

http://ntflowers.blogspot.com/
Tel: +233 261 563405
Email: ntflowers12@gmail.com

onenigerianboy: Ozwald Boateng AW12 Presentation #fashion #lfw …

FashionistaGH — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 01:14:45 +0000

onenigerianboy:

Ozwald Boateng AW12 Presentation #fashion #lfw (Taken with instagram)

The Letter-Writing Project: Senegal – Cradle of An African Re-Awakening?

Jemila — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 20:16:00 +0000

Dear Fellow African,

The hour is nigh, and the trumpet has sounded. After months of dilly-dallying, the levees have broken and Senegal, as we know it, is at a crossroads. It could also very well be the cradle of an African Re-Awakening. Call it the "Africa Spring", a "Renaissance" or a "Revolution", it is here.

I'm not going to use ink and paper describing what led this West African "beacon of democracy" down this path. Unfortunately, we know it all too well. Here it is in under 140 characters:

It's ironic that the leader in this case is the very one who spent an estimated $27million on a copper statue which he named "La Monument de La Renaissance Africaine." I doubt Senegalese President Abdoulaye Wade ever imagined that those words would be transformed into the energy that is sweeping across Senegal as we speak.

The global economic crisis might have wrecked havoc in many-a financial market, but to its credit, it also caused a shift of seismic proportions in the minds of people all over the world from the streets of Tunisia to Wallstreet and now Place de l'Obelisque in Dakar, Senegal. That, I believe, is the essence of the revolution: a re-awakening and change in mindset.

To be real though, not all has been good and dandy. Far from it, at last count 13 Senegalese perished from the ongoing pre-election violence in the land of the Teranga, and one can only hope that number doesn't increase come Sunday Feb. 26, 2012 when presidential elections will take place. However, as has been the case many times in the past, adversity could possibly birth a re-cognition and commitment to a better world.I've been following this developing story since experiencing the incessant power cuts in Dakar in early 2011, and if nothing else is certain in all of this, it's that Senegalese are fed up (Y'En A Marre), and want to take back their country. Many of the kind-hearted people I had the opportunity to encounter are involved in the ongoing protests, and I find myself caught in somewhat of a mother-hen dilemma.

Part of me wants to tell them, stay inside, don't go to the protest grounds. Stay safe. Another part of me is beaming with pride that they have stepped forth and are defending their nation in the best way they know how. Whether it's through actually being among the passionate crowds, or keeping the rest of the world abreadst with what is really going on, they have stepped up to the charge. It also makes me wonder what I would do if -chineke, God-forbid - anything like that should happen in my own country Ghana. Would I run and hide, or would I step up to the plate? Just how far would you go to defend your nation and all you've ever known?

The African Union and ECOWAS are finally taking firm steps to address the escalating violence in Senegal, and while that is laudable, I can't help but think that these are coats made from the same cloth. The very leadership that needs changing is the one trying to change itself. Nevertheless, we rest in the hope that what is right will be done and that the people's voice will be heard. For other efficiently ineffective African leaders, take heed. As we say in Ghana, "Every day for thief man, one day for master." Everything eventually comes to an end. Including tyranny.

Come what may in the following weeks, I rest in solidarity with the good people of Senegal, and all who strive for human dignity, peace and freedom. Reste fort mes soeurs et freres.

So, yes, the hour is night, the trumpet has been blown. The question now is, when the recesses of that call reaches your doorstep, will you answer?

Your Sister,

Photo Source: Photo 1, Photo 2, Photo 3

Guest Contributor Lady Mango: Another kind of dance floor

Nana Darkoa — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 18:02:00 +0000

The light in the room is dim, that kind of almost candle-light glow coming from a small lamp. We are being reckless, laughing through the corridor where our friends can hear us, running into the bedroom and closing the door with a loud bang. I am already melting, pure sweetness between my thighs. She takes me towards the bed, pulls me close and I can feel the strap-on in her jeans and her breasts pressed against mine. She runs her velvet lips down my neck before kissing me, pulling me even closer to her body. We begin to dance, her body so close it is almost becoming me. I unbutton her shirt, run my hand over ...

Introducing Nneka, Internationally Acclaimed Musician and Activist as AWDF’s Ambassador for the Arts

AWDF — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 15:30:47 +0000

On Thursday 16th February 2012, the African Women's Development Fund, (AWDF) formally introduced Nneka Egbuna, internationally acclaimed musician and activist, as AWDF’s Ambassador for the Arts during a short ceremony at AWDF House in Accra,... Read more

Saving all my susu for you

Davida — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 13:18:00 +0000

These, dear reader, are the romantic utterances of my man this morning.

As I watch my brother round the corner to school, I become aware of a man standing in front of a building site, wearing the reflective vest of a construction worker. He chooses to announce his presence as I walk past by declaring loudly, 'Wo y? me taste!'

I dissolve into giggles. He grins, pleased, apparently not only because he guesses correctly that I'm Ghanaian, but that I 'get' the line delivered with the right mix of admiration and aggression.

'Wo y? Asante ni, meboa?' He asks (You're an Ashanti woman, aren't you?)

Without waiting for an answer he says, 'Me tumi hu saa. Hw? wo moma.' (I can tell just by looking at your forehead)

This forehead of mine has been the..er..butt of jokes from time immemorial. That it was aggravated by a childhood accident which left a scar on the right side only served to provide fodder for all manner of affectionate teasing from neighbourhood kids - 'Moma Po', 'Torchlight' and 'Kanea' come readily to mind.

He is saying, 'Nansa yi ase me hu wo aky?.' (I haven't seen you in a while)

'Ah. Na wo nim me mpo?' I retort. (But you don't even know me!)

'Hw?! Saa na ?y? wo. Me huu wo a na Awurade yi kyere? me.' (That's what you think. As soon as I saw you, the Lord revealed it to me)

'Den na Awurade ayi akyer? wo?' (What has the Lord revealed to you?)

'Awurade se wo y? me wife! ?w? s? me b? hwehw? wo fada...' (The Lord says you are my wife. I must come seek approval from your father)

I am hugely amused by this time. 'Saa w'ahu?' (Is that right?)

'Oh yes. Br? a me br? nyinaa ey? wo nti na mee br?. Every ment bia me to susu ma wo.' (All my hustling is for you. I save money – susu - every month for our future together)

I should mention at this time that his name is Kusi, and I used the term 'my man' very, very loosely.

After I walk off laughing, I'm reminded of the wackier chat-up attempts that come flying in the way of the sexes: the man in Amsterdam who offers to 'only bounce against me' by way of introduction; the elderly gentleman in the bus who insists my gap-toothed smile would bring him luck if we courted; the guy in the bar who throws some ice on the floor and says, 'Now that the ice is broken...' and sees from my face that I've read that line somewhere...

But there is just something about the random man on the street who delivers his interest in you with amusing candour in a Ghanaian dialect like Twi: 'Ah sister, me feeli wo w'ate?', 'Wo y? feeling sister!' 'Wo y? me size!' 'Wo y? me taste!' - all roughly translated as 'You're hot!' or 'you're just my type.'
In these circumstances, keeping a straight face is a work of art.

Ah, such is life - random or otherwise. You take it all on the chin and laugh where you can. It's all in a day's walk!

What's tickled you this morning?

Comment faire une omelette ? Cartographie partie 5

Olivier et Danielle — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 11:27:00 +0000

Des cartes hilarantes, par Christoph Niemann, illustrateur étatsunien de renom, que vous pouvez retrouver ici sur son blog.

Count them blessings

Nana Kofi Acquah — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 10:41:00 +0000

Today, let’s begin with an excerpt from a hymn I grew up on:

“Count your many blessings, name them one by one

and it will surprise you what the Lord has done”.

Those are powerful words for the moments in life when we feel lost, forgotten, abandoned, used and discarded, miserable or so low we have to raise our heads to see the bottom of the pit.

Life can be tough on us. “Life is War” is a common inscription on Ghana’s commercial vehicles.

It is true that life is war but it’s also true that we have seen some victories in our time.

The question therefore becomes: “Do we take time to recount our victories?”

The fact that a lot of rich, successful, blessed people die taking anti-depressants and pain killers tells us a lot:

Money, beauty, talent and fame don’t necessarily bring us happiness. Happiness often stems from a deliberate pondering on the little blissful moments that have brushed against our souls like soft breezes: The birth of a child. The day one fell in love. A postcard from a long lost friend. Ice cream on a sunny day. Unwrapping your first tricycle. Trying out your first pair of converse. Remember when you got your first ipod? How about when you wrote your first love letter?

I know most of these things seem trivial but don’t forget no matter how huge a gate is, the key that opens it is often tiny. Don’t ignore the tiny memories.

The more of those moments you can accumulate the bigger your mountain of happiness gets.

Even the most wretched of souls has been blessed before. Even the happiest of souls has known moments of loss and pain. That is life. What happens to us will never be as important as what we do with them. I choose to count my blessings.

Whether shooting from the bucket of a forklift, high up in the sky on a god-forsaken mine or playing buffoon around my 2 year old daughter, I consider myself blessed.

Feeling blessed is a state of mind that has nothing to do with ones present reality.

Feeling blessed is a posture of gratitude and a prayer of faith. When will you start counting?

my deathday wish

novisi — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 10:09:00 +0000

so death would come and

I would die a poet!
I the lover you hate
in equal measure or worse.

but doNOT
do these in remembrance of me:

do not freeze my dead body like cow meat
to keep from rotting
or mummify it like koobi
put on exhibition at Mallam Atta;
keeping wake and crying …agyeii…agyeii…
soaking it in your polluted tears and
peddling deceptions I’m an example
in the good books as told of the prophets BC
and you get away with it
because I would not be there in breath to say
you have not spoken the truth.
No…

give this to earth before sunset,
without delay;
without any fancy coffin or epitaphic tombstone.
Otherwise, burn it all:
the flesh and the bones to ashes;
throw to the wind or sprinkle upon the sea.

light a bonfire and
live your life;
sit around with cups of coffee and share my poems;
my tributes to you the living and

I the lover you hate with passion!
I would be gone, ferried in the whirlwind;

---

Wednesday February 1, 2012.
The day it was reported Wislawa Syzmborska died.