How was your weekend?

Of Traffic, Motor Riders and Our Forever Clueless Leaders!

~ Cunning Linguist

Traffic was insane this weekend! And Accra traffic on a regular day is already no joke.But with Ghana hosting the 59th Heads of States Meeting, I should not have been surprised. I had not bothered to read what those potbellied, half-senile old farts were meeting about this time. Covid? The Single currency for Ecowas? Mali ? Who cares. Really? How does that help me any of us? Especially since they haven’t even been able to manage their own problems back home.

Accra traffic - courtesy of Accra Traffic Update

Many parts of Accra had come to a complete standstill as promised by the communiqué sent out by the Ghana Police earlier. Motorists were advised to find alternate routes. Thank goodness for Google maps and the meandering bypasses led by trotro drivers whenever there was traffic…. I have learnt a few of these over the years.

I find it terribly sad that our lives are always inconvenienced because of mismanagement, corruption, disorganization, just blatant incompetence and we are left on our own to figure out alternatives. This sums up a lot of our problems as a nation. No electricity? That’s on us to find an alternative solution like generators  AKA “I Better Pass My Neighbour”, inverters, rechargeable lamps. Bad roads?  Those that can, invest in a 4×4, look for land where there is a decent road and pray a big man moves into the neighbourhood so it’s maintained. No water? Get a borehole, harvest rainwater, pay for water to be delivered weekly etc. The list is endless and tiring! Our politicians don’t seem to care! And we are sadly being run and have always been by  a bunch of kleptocrats who are part of a Kakistocracy. I totally understand why people want to marry for papers or give birth to kids at all cost out of this cursed land. A meeting of heads of state from many failed nations in Accra to discuss how to solve regional problems. That’s a hoot! Since  they are all doing so well in their fiefdoms. 

Let’s forget the half-senile old farts and get back to my weekend, shall we? I have no idea what demon possessed me to go meet friends this Saturday morning, but I did. I was late for the meeting as was pretty much everyone else because we were stuck in traffic and in my case, for a good couple of hours. On my way back home around the palace mall area, a motor rider, whom I had seen in my rearview mirror earlier,  drove in between my car and a small van. The space was obviously not big enough for even a bicycle to squeeze through but this smart ass decided to wish his motor bike between my car and the small van. I heard the saddest sound ever as my front bumper was ripped off! The rider looked back, as my mouth opened in horror, confused and still processing the most stupid move I had ever witnessed on the road. The rider just shrugged, weaved through two cars and rode off happy with himself to have escaped invectives and no doubt some hefty slaps, if I’d had my way. I felt so crestfallen not to have been able to unleash the kraken within, on him. I mulled later, on what I could have done differently. As for the rider, from my experience save for the slaps, and possibly confiscating his worn-out Boxer bike, there would still have been no joy when it came to righting the wrong he had done. I parked on the side of the road, adjusted the bumper to try and keep it from dragging on the street as I continued heading home, thinking of the money that I had to suddenly cough up on Monday morning to fix this mess. On the way, I saw motorists narrowly avoiding pedestrians and those accursed riders coming from the left, the right, overtaking from both sides in the full glare of the police. I thought earlier this month of the statements by both the the Minister of Interior and the IGP after the bullion robbery.

“What we should know is that the criminals continue to change the modules and we have to be changing with them and the police is doing all it can. We have not lost control. I always want to emphasise that, we need to go to neighbouring countries to see what is happening there, but we are not in the same league with them.

We want to do better than we are doing now, but believe me, Ghana is safe; that is why all the other countries are running to Ghana.”

The Interior Minister, Ambrose  Dery

I’ve already forgotten the details of the IGP’s statement just that it was an equally useless one where he basically compared Ghana to other countries and said the only place that does not have crime is heaven.

Of course, In any right-thinking country both officials would have resigned for such stupid comments but here in Ghana we will find an alternative route, keep them, and manage the problem…. until we go to another country and see or to heaven!

And how was your weekend….mine was sucky through and through!

AND HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND?  The Septugenarian, the Absentee Farmer and many broken promises

~ Cunning Linguist

This weekend promised to be exciting and it was! Thanks to Auntie Coro, I haven’t been out as much as I used to. I have sadly, become hooked to tv shows that are of no value to my hungry life in Accra. Binge watching Lucifer, Hemlock Grove and other mindless series have yet to put food on my table.

I had decided years ago, not to listen to an old man who implored me not to go into farming. According to him, farming was tough and with my day job it would be near impossible to be a successful farmer. 

Thanks to this bad combo of Covid and Netflix I have found myriads of excuses not to go to my farm and this Saturday a surprise visit revealed what I feared would happen. My farm was on the brink of collapse. The Moringa crops had still not germinated and the factotum who served as my farm manager’s excuse was lack of rains. He essentially blamed God for our failure. 

I patiently waited for the eejit to explain the major and minor rainy seasons to me for the umpteenth time and calmly reminded him that his excuse was 2 months old – I had since ‘borrowed’ an 18 feet water hose from my parent’s place and brought it to the farm. I pointed out where the said water hose was stored plus the overhead water storage tank, I’d had installed. According to him the water hose had been in storage for so long, that it was irreversibly knotted. I then proceeded to spend the next half hour with him and two other farm hands to unknot the labyrinth-like water hose. All the while, I made a mental note to do better. I had been warned that the worst thing I could do was to be an absentee farmer…but hey that’s me. I just love rediscovering the fucking wheel.

I felt so down with the situation on the farm I ended up Netflixing and chilling with some comfort food I bought on my way home to drown my sorrows.

Man, this grownup thing called life sucks, big time!

The next day I had a seventy-year old’s birthday to attend at a small catholic church in Weija. I had not been to church in a while, was fashionably late and had to sit outside.

The money from the Catholic coffers had obviously not reached this church. I was later told by a staunch catholic that these days it was every church for himself. I did enjoy the service tremendously and was really glad about the camaraderie extended to me as a first time worshipper there. As is wont of me, I made an empty promise to donate something to this church when I was one-day rich and famous. I took several pictures with the seventy-year-old birthday girl on my pretentious I-phone 12 Pro Max that had put a dent in my farm budget.

From there it was off to Serenity Beach at Kokrobite for a sumptuous meal.  I stuffed myself silly and was positive I had gained 5 kilos by the end of that debauchery. Eating and drinking with friends and family made me happy and depressed at the same time. I thought of life and seventy years. Would I finally have a Moringa Plantation by then? Would I be obese with nothing but broken promises and empty dreams – I drank a few shots of WoodFord reserve (Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey) to drown such sad thoughts.

And for only the third time in my life, I hijacked that bottle of whiskey from the party and went home to continue drowning my sorrows. 

I had a call from my farm manager to tell me in an annoyingly happy voice, as if he was the rainmaker, that it was now raining at the farm, and yes he will continue planting the Moringa seeds the very next day. I silently thanked God for rain and drank to the health of my seventy year old aunt plus other good things life had to offer. 

Don’t you really hate those weekends where the Universe is obviously sending some deep message but your head is clouded by whiskey and not able to make sense of it? No? Just me then?

And How was your Weekend?

AND HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND? Of Champions League Finals and Ok Waakye

~ Cunning Linguist

So, those who know me know I like all things hot – be it a woman or waakye (I know, I know, in these days of wokeness, I probably shouldn’t be saying this)

For a Champions League Final weekend, it was pretty slow.

I am quickly noticing that many people do not wear facemasks anymore.

A young man who came over this weekend to do some odd jobs for me sans mask – told me decisively and with the authority of an ignoramus who has never had to be under oxygen or knows anyone who has, that “Covid-19 did not exist anymore”. Mask wearing doesn’t seem to be a requirement for boarding trotros anymore apparently. Everything seems to be back to normal as my experience over the weekend showed me.

I spent the whole football season, watching the fortnightly Tuesday and Wednesday games at establishments close to my office. On rare weekends I occasionally found my way to a friend’s house and watched some EPL matches if I was not attending my numerous weekend functions.

This weekend, I found myself wondering if it was worth checking out the Champions League final between Chelsea and Manchester City, knowing full well how dull it most likely would be. I decided, against my better judgement, to go see for myself at a local football pub in my area.

As is my nature, I did not get there before the match started. Strolling casually instead into the place, well into the match, like I owned the joint, only to find what looked like all able bodied males between sixteen and sixty from my neighbourhood there.

The unmistaken cost of Five Ghana Cedis to watch the FINALS was emblazoned on a board. The owner’s younger brother, a scrawny kid with a disproportionately large stomach doubled as a bouncer. I slipped him a twenty and entered the small shack that doubled as a covid-19 super spreader. The place was so packed I had to grind my way between people to move to the rickety table that served as a bar. I ordered a cold club, politely refusing the dirty plastic cup offered to me by the bar lady and chugged from the bottle – hopefully extending my life by year by that decision.   I found myself standing between a guy with a blue wife beater and another guy who was obviously a Manchester City fan, judging from his never-ending commentary and stream of expletives whenever the team missed what he deemed to be a chance to get ahead. The owner seemed to know me, but I had no recollection of us having met. He yanked a small looking kid, barely sixteen years off his seat for me, telling the kid that if he wanted to remain seated he should buy drinks. I must exude some air of importance, because I have no idea why he did that. I waved the kid to sit back down. With the odor of armpits and unchanged boxers permeating the space, I had no intention of being there long.

Havertz scored for Chelsea before the break and I slipped away from the noxious fumes shortly after.

I promised myself to renew my DSTV subscription to be able to watch the finals next time.  In the meantime, I called a friend I had beef with and humbly asked to use his DSTV account – yes I can be shameless like that – and downloaded the DSTV Now App. Turned out the rest of the match was a dud with the only goal being Havertz’s goal. Was it worth mending that fence for this match? In hindsight perhaps not.

Although Chelsea, my favored EPL team lifted the cup after 9 years…that certainly made my weekend.

Oh, yes and then on Sunday I had my first taste of that famous waakye at Spintex Community 18 that everybody had been raving about – yes, I have been under a rock. I am always skeptical about over hyped waakye. I do not claim to be an expert on the dish. But seriously how good can waakye really be right? Well, this Alhaji’s waakye was aight. Will I go out of my way to drive there or even order it to have it delivered to me, um no. If I happen to be in the area and feel for waakye I might get it. Please do not tear me apart for this. I have heard so much about this waakye, but it was just ok…It wasn’t horrible. I really do not expect much from overhyped places or football teams for that matter.

And how was your weekend?

AND HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND? The 2nd Dose is Sweeter than the First

~ Cunning Linguist

Why do Ghanaians like queues like this?

I woke up with a start on Friday, had one of those ablution type baths, rushed into the car, holding a piece of a week old bread and an expired Yomi yogurt. I had received a cryptic message from VaccineUpp a couple of days earlier that read –  “A second dose of coronavirus vaccine is available for you. Come with your vaccination card to Achimota Hospital on 2021-05-21” .

I won’t be joining the army of the walking dead…yay!

I got to the Achimota Hospital at 6.30am only to realize, everyone had the same idea and I was about the twentieth in line to a fast growing queue. As usual people would come up and ask who the last person was, move to the person and indicate they were after them. I quickly made a note to myself, that I was after the old lady with the red scarf. 

We waited patiently till half past 8, when a guy who looked like he had survived covid-19 a few times came over to check cards, using his phone to make sure that our names were indeed in the database. A nurse with a high-pitched voice reminded people who had not eaten to do so.

Damn!

I remembered the questionable bread and expired yoghurt. I rushed to the car wolfed down my horrible victuals and got back to the line. I could not locate the old woman with the red scarf or the guy with the blue oversized shirt…My place in the line was now uncertain. As the line became more orderly, I gave up my chair occasionally to a few of the Septuagenarians and Octogenarians that kept showing up as the line moved ever so slowly along…thanks to the idiot savant checking names on his phone!  An older looking man sidled up just as I made myself comfortable on a plastic chair.

Dagnaggit! Fuck the book “Courtesy For Boys and Girls!”

I justified my resolve to sit in the chair by surmising he was around my age and had just not taken very good care of himself….alcohol and drugs will do that to you.

After five minutes of explaining to an older gentleman that I most certainly was not jumping the queue and was indeed at my rightful place in line and when I thought all hope was lost the old woman with the red scarf came and saved my life, she had stepped away and was back and remembered that I was right behind her. Thank God for not afflicting her with Alzheimer’s or any of those memory loss diseases that old people are wont to get. I flashed her a smile of gratitude….underneath my face mask.

After my shot I went to finally look for proper food – waakye! And then it was off to buy a black and white shirt for a funeral of an Octogenarian in Kumasi, the next day.

People say the 2nd shot does a number on you. Not me! I was like superman miles away from Kryptonite. I did all the rounds a person could do in a day especially with my resolve to not step in the office. In my opinion, there are some days where one is entitled to do this – Weekends, holidays, election day, the day after election and the day you take your covid shot.

I went to bed at 10pm because I had a plane to catch at 6.40 am the next morning.

I jumped out of bed at 5.30am. How did I miss my 4:45am alarm!?

So for the second time in two days, I did that 5 minutes express bath and sped to the airport in a record time that would have made Hamilton envious. Or perhaps Verstappen. He did win Monaco this weekend. I got in 5 minutes after check-in was closed and none of my charm worked on those AWA cretins. I was denied boarding and was on standby for the 8am and then 9am flights. It dawned on me that perhaps Kumasi was not in the cards this weekend. I went home super tired. Seemed like the 2nd shot was in fact doing a number on me.

And how was your weekend?