I have met quite a variety of people here. From the random guys on the streets with whom I chat up briefly and take pictures with based on what they are wearing to people in my hotel lobby.
The other day a young man (I almost feel old enough to call him a boy) tried to chat me up. He was 23 and enamoured with me. In his words, if I had been positioned at the Ghanaian goal-post, the Americans would have been too stunned to score any goals what with my dimples and all. What a charmer. He took a selfie with me to post on Facebook so as to make his girlfriend jealous. He was a chubby American of Fijian descent and his girlfriend was Black.
I couldn’t quite make him out. He shared with me that he was a drug lord on the run from the officials and also that he had discovered a conspiracy at his university in Texas. Now, I’ve been spending a bit of time with the AFP journalist so he joined me and this kid continued with his story. He was an English major so he started to pepper the journalist with questions. Again he brought up his secret past which I was ready to dismiss until his father passed by and he told him that he was speaking to reporters, to which the father replied with a gesture of his finger to his closed lips and the remark “be careful of reporters, don’t talk too much”. The boy had replied, “oh, he’s a sports journalist” and the father’s response was “a reporter is a reporter”. Scary.
The next day, the Fijian lad found me lounging at the swimming pool. He wanted to share his girlfriend’s response to our selfie. It was a pregnancy stick with two red lines. I said “Congrats”, as he shook his head in disbelief, mock or not, again, I couldn’t make him out.
Tuesday night found me at a Ghanaian concert almost by accident. At first I had thought it was just Brazilians celebrating since it was right after the goalless Mexico – Brazil match. But a closer listen and look revealed the truth. The open-air arena was swarming with Ghanaian men and Brazilian women mostly. I was witness to all kinds of nonsense lines and coy giggles. No mistake, these women love them some dark-skinned men and the men were just as ready to please, wedding band on or not. The arena was lined by Ghanaian hawkers with trinkets and statues straight from the motherland. There were even much older Ghanaian men and a few women sitting around as well so I assumed this might have been organized right out of Ghana itself.
I had fun there. From high-life to Zoblazo to hip-life to covers of Santana, Michael Télo, Bob Marley and the like, the performer just exuded energy even though his voice was lacking. It was fun seeing the Ghanaian guys teach Azonto and other moves to the Brazilians around. I even got into the dancing mood myself, yes, and I’m not talking about my signature two-stepping move. Just going wild with the crowd until some idiot of a man came up to me, asking in Twi if I were Ghanaian, and when I nodded, told me there was a man there looking for a Ghanaian woman to dance with so we should go. Can you imagine?!
Not long after that I made my exit.
A lover of mangoes. A woman - smart, without pretense, lefthanded, Afropolitan - navigating this thing called life. An unapologetic believer in social justice and karma. Choosing to radiate positive energy and be true to myself. Here, my musings.
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