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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This Must Be Deep

This Must Be Deep

Bumped into this guy I worked with once. CEO of the company. I only worked with them one day a week, but would often have to write reports and conduct meetings with their social media clients. Things usually started off very well at first. I would make a presentation, get the clients nodding along, but then somewhere toward the end of our meeting, he would get up and begin to speak.

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My Heimlich Manoeuvre Joke Falls Flat in Jamaica

HEIMLICH MANOEUVRE JOKE FALLS FLAT IN JAMAICA

I’m on holiday in Jamaica hanging out with friends and some people they know. Everybody is telling stories. People are laughing and fooling around, and then, they turn to me and say, “Hey, Paul, tell us a joke from England, nuh man? You must know whole heap-a-good jokes from over there.” I’m like, no, you know, I’m no good at jokes. They say, “Come, man. We’re all here telling jokes, drinking rum, and acting stupid. What you have for

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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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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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The Silent Treatment

The Silent Treatment

Years ago, I wrote a one-off TV drama on a fast track programme for budding UK writers, headed by Jane Tranter, then at Channel 5. The story of an up-and-coming actor stalked by a crack-smoking South London cabbie was loosely based on real events. Tranter described it as “dark, disturbing and violent.” And I thought that sounds good to me. But she felt it was not something she could develop. In fact, it scared her half to death, she

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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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Mister Blues: Poland’s Bartek Przytuła

Mister Blues: Bartek Przytuła

Better known in Poland as one half of the duo, Przytuła & Kruk, Bartek Przytuła is worthy of attention in his own right as a blues vocalist, rebellious rascal, undisputed blues fan, and interpreter of all types of music that might make you shiver.

With the accompaniment of a guitar and harmonica, he very quickly gains your attention, and although the blues may be considered a monotonous and even boring genre by some folks, his performances are always original,

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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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