My father had taken me to Elmina Castle on coast of Ghana, quite a few times in my pre-teen years. At the time, most of this Dutch fort was inaccessible and we’d wander around making up the details of the story. Was this narrow window really where all slaves left their captivity in the fort, […]
moreMaybe it was the thrashing of waves against a shore I had spent innumerable days digging my feet and fingers in the sand. A fine sand in blacks and yellows, resembling marble. In a flash, I ran into that turbulent sea, with its strange currents that collide, forming dangerous pools of darkness. And even more […]
more“Okay look. As a kid, I used to always climb mango trees. And we used to not think anything of whatever colour we had. I had never thought of myself as being white until I returned from England. Suddenly people were asking me where I was from. From here. I said. My dad is Ghanaian, […]
moreWomen. We women. Wise and foolish. Strong and weak. We take care of our ailing fathers and our boisterous boys, while man has left us. He tells us he feels guilty because he would have and should have but can't. We are seventeen and excited to meet an artist who makes the things we love […]
moreMemory works by association, we all know this. Still though, not all associations do what you want them to do with your memory. I find myself sitting in a taxi from Kotoka airport (I had entirely forgotten that name)and not feeling a thing. Ghana now, is Ghana now. Not Ghana then. I am even remembering […]
moreI watch the pianist, I watch the singer. They are alike. When they lose themselves, and allow the music to absorb them. And for a moment accept the pain that comes with their talent. And they have been humbled into primary beings. And even seem to forget we are watching them. And perhaps unintentionally show […]
moreI learned a lot today. Maybe some days are supposed to be about learning while other are about execution. Perhaps learning days take months, even years. I share work space with various artists who work in different disciplines. This morning, one of the women explained how she was unsure about a piece she had made. […]
moreThey stomped around on stage in scarlet red. The woman, and the man. He was tall and lanky, his hands were too big for his body and obviously this is what a lot of flamenco is about: the hands. His long hair. A delicate man. He annoyed me. Why? Because he wasn’t dancing. He was […]
moreOn that same bus, a different woman enters. Her shoulders are slumped forward, her eyes droop. Her mouth is half open. She is not entirely compos mentis. She shifts from left to right, looks around and so I ask whether she needs help getting into the now empty chair next to me. She mumbles something […]
moreA girl in her twenties comes to sit next to me on the bus. She smells of chocolate. I instantly feel like eating her. And doesn't my scarf suddenly smell awfull musty? I glance sideways to see what she looks like. Long, peroxide blonde hair. Heavy make-up. A bold nose she tries to hide under […]
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