Sunday Morning Taxi Ride

Sunday morning taxi ride

From Village Junction to Parakuo Link Road is a straight two-mile stretch. On this seemingly neverending length of potholed tarmac, the walk home to Parakuo Estate could take up to forty-five minutes under a scorching sun. It is a seven-minute ride by the fastest route available in these parts, but that is often a private car or taxi on a listless Sunday morning. The roads are completely deserted today. Even the bus drivers are in church on this Sunday

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Once a Cheat, Always a Cheat?

Once a Cheat

In the context of a relationship, I’m one of those guys that if I’m with someone, I’m with them. It might take me forever to commit, but once I’m there, you’ve got me. If I should get to a point where I’m looking to cheat, it’s the end of the road for me.

I don’t cheat. I don’t do cheats. Since I know what it’s like to date a cheat, that’s enough reason for me to avoid cheating

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Random Act of Kindness Lost

No Random Act of Kindness

A random act of kindness has been the hallmark of my life for as long as I can recall. Like the random act of kindness when I was six years old, and Miss Ivy plucked me from the streets of Kingston, fed me, clothed me then sent me to school for nearly two years because I looked like her only son who had died in a road

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Bribery, God, and Me

bribery Ghana land commission

I am meeting a gentleman from the Lands Commission to map and measure the exact area of land I’m registering with them. He has agreed to meet me at five on a Sunday morning in Madina to drive to the land in Aburi South because he says, he needs to be back and in church by 7:30 am at the latest. I find this church admission quite laughable, to be honest with you. Not least of all because I

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Build Your Dream Home in Ghana

Build your dream home in Ghana (2017)

Want to build your dream home in Ghana? Litigation-free registered land available for immediate development. Stunning views. Quick sale or exchange for farmland with a house outside Accra. Grab a piece of paradise while you still can.

Situated less than an hour’s drive inland of Accra, the green and breezy hills of Adamorobe (more popularly known as “Aburi South”) has long been a choice destination for local day-trippers, as well as expatriates wanting to live or hang out in

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On Being a “Big Man” in Ghana

On Being a Big Man in Ghana

As a “Big Man” in Ghanaian society, the trick is to marry early. Give your wife at least two children sharp. After the firstborn, and certainly by age thirty or so, on a diet of oily, starchy foods and sweet cakes with no exercise, she should have already turned into “Big Mama.” You know, grossly overweight with everything hanging out. You may have already seen the American caricature on screen; huge sagging breasts, big belly, giant thighs and an

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My God Wouldn’t Make a Homosexual

taxi

I was having a discussion with one of my regular taxi drivers the other day. We were on the subject of a depreciating Cedi and other social wrongs in Ghana, when he suddenly pointed to a man walking on the dirt road ahead and says, “Look at that man and the way he walks.” I looked and saw a slightly overweight man walking up a hill, and said, what about him?

“Look at the way he walks,” repeated the

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Chinese Invasion

Chinese invasion Ghana

The Chinese are adept at adapting. See them navigating the markets, streets and tro-tros of Accra in 90-degree heat like true Africans. They’re telling us without uttering a word that they’re here to set down roots at least for a while.

Whole families have come, it seems. Darting through the crowds in small but perfectly ordered ant-like patterns, paying little or no mind to anyone else but the people in their group, and the odd sellers, street vendors, and

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State of Emergency

Emergency Care

An old man walked into the 37th Military Hospital in Accra early one morning. He had known all his life that the 37th Military Hospital in Accra was a place for deserving Ghanaians, and so he had travelled there from far, obviously very sick and in need of emergency

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Black woman, white children

Children from Village of the Damned

The young American white couple a few doors away from me are leaving Ghana today. So I’m told. “Too poor,” they say. “One minute, water no lights. Next minute, lights no water.” They’ve had enough. After five years of working to improve education in this country, where their two children were born, they’re packing their bags and hauling their doll-like offsprings back to the good ole US of A; Colorado, I believe.

I’m relaying this story to you,

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