my.dictionary.of.special.vocabulary.used.in.ghana (Part I) (abridged version)

Buried deep in the fertile soils of our subconscious speaking man are words planted before our time by our colonial masters. Words that we still use even though our forefathers are long gone. Words that show where ghana has been and how very little far ahead we have come. I know, it even shows in our language. In the paragraphs below, I shall expatiate (ahem!) on a few of them.

Alight v.

Definition: descend from a train, bus, or other form of transportation .

For a word that even the dictionary describes as Old English, we hear it rather often in our day to day transportation life. This is often used by people who try to sound educated in a trotros or taxis. In one trotro, a young girl nearing her stop called out: “Mate, I will alight here.” I had to suppress a giggle. Were you to say these same lines elsewhere on this continent (and I won't mention names) you might be mistaken for a suicide bomber ... Now be warned. When I buy my Range Rover and you hitch a ride with me and you tell me to alight you someplace, bear in mind that I will drive you to my house, park my car in the garage and leave you in the car with the child protect lock on and go to sleep. Aba!

Escort v.

Definition: accompany (someone or something) somewhere, esp. for protection or security

If any young man, trying to pick a move on me ever uses these words, I will escort him right out of the door of my heart. Can I escort you to the junction? No you may not! In fact you may never escort me anywhere ever again in my life! So you can escort your Old English self back to whichever hole you came out of! Escort this!

Block n.

Definition: Alternative for ice-cubes.

Have you ever been to a bar/restaurant/chop bar and had this question posed to you?: “Do you want some block in your mineral?” I just can't get over it. It tickles me every time I hear it.

Barman(girl) n.

Definition: a bartender, waiter/waitress

If you've never heard anyone say this at a drinking spot, then you've not been in Ghana long enough. I need not say any more.

Mineral n.

Definition: fizzy drink, a soft drink or soda such as Pepsi, Sprite, Coca Cola or a Malt drink.

I don’t want a mineral. I want a soft drink. A soda. A fizzy drink. I don't want diamond, gold, or bauxite. All I want is a soda pop to kill this thirst.

Paste v.

Definition: To brush ones teeth

“Have you pasted this morning?” If you ask me why it is that we come to use such words, I’ll ask you to rub your hands together and see if you make fire. I can appreciate the link between toothpaste and pasting, but must we insist on pasting instead of brushing? I just don’t get it. Do you?

Traffigator n.

Definition: A turn signal. origin: Perhaps the shortened form of a Traffic Indicator

Use: “That foolish taxi driver, didn’t even show their traffigator before he stopped.”

Traffigator is another coined word that we use rather freely and frequently. The interesting thing is that the literate, semi illiterate and completely illiterate all say traffigator. Don’t ask me why or how. It just is. It’s not that we don’t know, it’s just easier to say traffigator than turn signal or traffic indicator. It just is.

Augur v.

Definition: (of an event or circumstance) portend a good or bad outcome.

This doesn’t augur well, that doesn’t augur well. Will anything ever augur well for us? Maybe not. Not ever. Until we stop using words like this, maybe not. Get a thesaurus people. Make my life a lot less insufferable. Please.

Scapegoat n.

Definition: a person who is blamed for the wrongdoings, mistakes, or faults of others, esp. for reasons of expediency.

I’ll tell you a funny story. I first heard this word when I was barely 10yrs old. We had moved to a different region and a new school. Things were very much surreal at that point in my life/age etc. We had been called for assembly and a million and one children were all packed in lines like canned sardines. I was from a school with a total population of no more than 150 students, being in that crowded environment took a lot getting used to. Now this really strict looking teacher stands up in front of the whole school and talks about using some student as a scapegoat so others will learn from it. I tell you, I wasn’t sure what he meant? I felt he meant that the child would be beaten up like a goat that had escaped from its pen. So a few minutes later, a name is mentioned and up comes this feeble looking boy (I can’t remember what he’d done) and in the presence of three other teachers, the headmistress of the school, and the entire student population, this boy was given a severe lashing after which they let him go. I know, I was very traumatized by the event. Two weeks later, I received my own lashes (for the very first time) for getting 3 wrong answers in a math quiz. Trauma trauma trauma! I vowed never to be used as a scapegoat ever in my life.

Sack v.

Definition: To be walked out of a place/room/office

As in, when I went into the man’s office, he sacked me because I refused to shake his hand. This word is totally misused by Ghanaians all the time. You can’t be sacked from someone’s room or office, you can only be driven out. You can be sacked if you are dismissed from your employment, in which case you will be given the sack. The sack, not sack.

Accoutrements n.

Definition: Additional items of dress or equipment, or other items carried or worn by a person or used for a particular activity

Use: "He came with 2 portmanteaus, 1 briefcase and several other accoutrements."

In all honesty, I had no idea this word was English until my second year in the university. I tell you, I had believed all my life until then that it was some Ghanaian slang. The origin of this word is French, from the verb “accoutrer” which means to ‘cloth or equip’.

Portmanteau n.

Definition: a large trunk or suitcase, typically made of stiff leather and opening into two equal parts.

This too is a French word from the mid 16th century from the words porter ‘carry’ and manteau ‘mantle’. For this, I don’t really have much to say. The word speaks for itself.

I have no doubt you've enjoyed reading this just as much as I did writing it. To all those who helped me compile this list (you know who you are), I'm totally grateful. If you have suggestions and submissions, I advise that you gather them, polish them and keep them someplace safe for the sake of posterity. Or you can simply forward them to my inbox :)

Counting on your usual cooperation.

Note:

n. - noun

v. - verb

8.reasons.why.we.could.never.have.a.ghanaian.rock.band

Rock bands can be really awesome, if you’re into that sort of thing, that is. I prefer a slightly watered down version, that’s why I would take alternative rock and soft rock over hard core heavy metal any day. But God in his infinite wisdom created us all very differently and as such every ear has it's musical inclinations. For instance, I can’t imagine a bunch of hard core Biker Boys grooving to a Ghanaian Gospel track by Ohemaa Mercy (no matter how loud she bellows out her notes she won't reach rock band status), or a song by Agya Koo Nimo (what category does his music fall under again?) let alone hiplife. In much the same way, I can’t see my grandmum rocking to sounds of Metallica or Pink Floyd.

So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking (as always), analyzing and pondering over the various reasons why one thing may fly in this airspace and plummet in another. I narrowed my mental monologue to rock music and reasons why it would never fly in Ghana. Here are a few:

1. Crowd surfing. Ghanaians don’t quite get the concept of crowd surfing? Imagine being at the National Theatre or the Accra Sports Stadium and having someone like Tic Tac suddenly jump into the crowd of people. There are two possible outcomes; a) The crowd parts way and he lands painfully on the bare ground or b) the crowd sort of catch him and by the time he is halfway through his "fans", he is stripped of any valuable item on him save his boxers. Items stolen will include his bling bling belt, bling bling watch, sneakers, baseball cap, t-shirt etc.


2. The Gothic Look. You see, to be a veritable rock band, you must have a certain look. For rock bands, the Gothic look is what it is all about. We’re talking fully blown black make-up, black nail polish, black eye-shadow, rings through the nose and out the ear, eye-lid piercings and anywhere possible...the list is endless. In Ghana, this look would be considered demonic and you’ll have the entire nation holding national prayers against you. So obviously, that's a definite no-no.


3. Expensive Stage Theatrics. Most successful rock bands, usually destroy their guitar or microphone after every performance. It’s all in the act. In Ghana, we can’t even afford to hire the best DJs (spinners) in town, even hiring instruments for the show requires us to dig deep into our very shallow pockets. While we struggle with the air-conditioning and basic lighting at our event locations, bands like Pink Floyd utilize burning gongs and crashing airplanes as part of their stage show. Now, be honest with yourself, which of our theatres do you see that happening?


4. No chorus. Usually the structure of rock music avoids the popular music structure of choruses after each verse. Now we all know that for the everyday Ghana-man, you’ve got to have a catchy chorus to have a hit song. Otherwise you’re not going anywhere with your music! Your situation is powerless even with large sums of payola. Ask Praye or Wutah, they'll tell you.


5. Who is going to produce you? For a music genre that would require actual instruments to be played, this might pose a problem for both our musicians and producers. Now, I’m not sure if Apietus, JQ, Bandex or even Mike Okraku Mantey would like to produce a rock band in Ghana? It’s a complete waste of time for all the above mentioned reasons!


6. Musical Talent. To have a rock band, you need to actually play a musical instrument. Even the lead singer would have to play at least the guitar. Do we have that in Ghana? Huh? Do we? Can Kwaw Kese string two or three musical chords together to produce a melodic tune all by himself? Does he even know an octave from an octopus?


7. Climate Challenge. The prescribed attire is usually ALL BLACK. Evidently, with all the heat and humidity in Ghana, that will be a challenge that would require a national concerted effort.


8. Till Death Do You Part. Lastly, rock bands usually stick together forever, but with the very predictable resume of hiplife groups falling apart after one or two hits, keeping a band together for 10-20years would be utterly impossible! Lumba Brothers, Buk Bak and very recently, Wutah are just a few examples.

world.cup: Woes, Worries and Wins

I'm glad the World Cup is over. Thankfully, I no longer have to wake up to the sounds of a vuvuzela from the neighbours. That was a bit of a nuisance. For that period, we forgot all about our cheap politics and corruption scandals and for those reasons, I miss the World Cup.

Despite the odds we faced, we were the most favoured side to win and just when a few steps away from the top, we were "robbed". We did everything right and had we not given up mentally after the missed penalty shot, we might have gone right through and perhaps kept the trophy on the continent. The Stars outdid themselves and exceeded all expectations and in many ways succeeded in unifying most part of the continent through a simple game of kick ball. That for me is the most intriguing and heartwarming detail of this experience. You had people across the continent and the rest of the world wearing the colours of Ghana. And it wasn't just for show.

Our loss against the Uruguayans brought about an immense support for the Orange Eleven and we couldn't wait for them to thrash our new found arched enemies. We didn't care that just days before the start of the world cup, we had been beaten by the Dutch in a friendly match. We just wanted revenge and that's definitely what we got. Never before has Ghana supported the Netherlands so.

[caption id="attachment_232" align="alignright" width="430" caption="Ghana Colours the Continent"][/caption]

Admittedly it shattered our dreams of making history, they killed us with a cheat, and although we were awarded a penalty and lost that too, we felt that the Uruguayans had not been punished enough. The fact of the matter is that we lost painfully and no matter how many talk shows we develop this topic, no matter how many shouts of rage we conjure, or how many curses we invoke on Suarez, the fact it simple - we lost. There's no use mulling over this any longer than we already have. Let's make the most of the loss and move on.

Although we didn't win, we are enjoying the endearment and sentiments of the entire world. Had we been on the side of the argument, and committed the same foul as the Uruguayans, I doubt if we could still hold our chin high and chests out like we are doing right now. Cheating, in every way or form helps no one. See what happened to the French squad (Les Blues). They cheated their way through to qualify and could not even win a single match! This end surely justified the means. If Uruguay were to have gone ahead and won this competition, they will be known as the team that robbed the better team to win. We need to keep our eyes on the prize and sometimes the prize isn't always that which glitters.

So trophy or not, we did win. We won the hearts of the South Africans and that of the rest of the world. We won the admiration of the world, the respect of our fellow Africans and now, it means a little bit more to have a Ghanaian passport than before. But beyond that, there's a lot more than has to be done. We need to do is to accomplish other important feats globally like qualifying for several disciplines in the Olympic games and bringing home quite a few medals, creating world-changing inventions that defy logic. We must contribute a lot more to the world than just a good name in football. Football is only the starting point. Let's not make it the only objective of the nation. We need a lot more Ghanaians as Nobel Prize winners and other international awards like the Heineken Prize, Wolf Foundation Prize and so on. The events of this tournament point to the fact that if we would die a little, we can live a lot more. If we try a little harder, we most certainly can beat the world and for me, that's more than enough proof of our capability as Ghanaians and as Africans. No more excuses. I am tired of hearing us blame the slave trade for our woes. Had we been smarter or slightly advanced couldn't we have also gone and colonized the British or whomever we chose to? Note this: There's a new world order and we must take advantage of the current that's blowing, because it is moving us in the direction of success.

[caption id="attachment_234" align="alignleft" width="258" caption="Hopefully, the Rebel Ryter will pick up Nobel Medal sometime in the near future...it is very possible you know?"][/caption]

But in all this, let's not be fooled, we will not enjoy silver platter opportunities just because we are Ghanaians or Africans, no not at all. If anything at all, it'll be more difficult for us. The world out there is full of Suarezes and as we continue this journey, they will get all the more ruthless. They are willing to do destroy your dream so they can preserve theirs. So by fair means or foul, these Suarezes will do whatever it takes to get you out of their way and sadly enough sometimes it works. Giving up is exactly what they would like you to do. So rather than allow them to crucify our dreams, we won't give up or let down, we'll keep fighting and remind ourselves than whatever they've got, we've got a lot more going for us.

That aside, there is one more very important lesson I'd like to leave you with. If you've gotten nothing out of this epistle, we must remember always that soccer has had, should have and will have only one goalie.

rebel.of.honour

About two months ago, a very good friend asked that I become the maid of honour at her wedding. After she said those words to me over the phone, there was a pause and subsequently, 5-10 seconds of laughter. It was a shared joke. She and I have been friends for about 7 years now and having met on the soccer field, she knew what she was asking when she asked it. During that momentary pause in time (all of 2 seconds) I became dizzy with an assortment of thoughts; thoughts of make-up, eyebrow tweezing, high-heeled shoes, dress, nails painting, flowers and all the other out-of-character things I would have to endure. After running back and forth the tracks of this mental "ordeal", the "honour" bit in the title entered my consciousness and the dizzying thoughts settled. So I asked, "Do I have to wear a dress?" and with that she knew that I'd already accepted the position and the rest became a part of history that will never be forgotten.

As a child, due to my very nature, I was never used as a flower girl in any wedding, and as I grew older, I preferred a more background role (taking pictures and making sure everyone followed the day's protocol) avoiding the spotlight as much as possible. So this was the perfect opportunity to prove to the world what I was made up of as I took reigns of a prominent part in a wedding ceremony. To be honest with you I was more "afraid" than anything else. Nevertheless, I took hold of the role gladly and yet, gingerly, uncertain of what to expect, yet hopeful.

[caption id="attachment_204" align="aligncenter" width="516" caption="(from left to right) Naa, Marcy, Karen and the Rebel of Honour"][/caption]

As the days rolled closer to the D-day, it still didn't hit me, not even when I tried on the dress. The very first reaction I got was from my younger brother was summed-up into a simple shriek (better seen than said). Turning aside from that, I showed it to the bride who thought I looked dashing so I ignored my brother.

Then on the day of the event, during my make-up session, it hit me. Real hard this time; with every stroke of the make-up brush. I knew then, that there was no use holding back, and so I let go, ridding my self of almost every Rebel Ryter attachment and allowing the Rebel of Honour spirit to take over. Evidently, after my make-up session, I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror, and as a direct result, the rest of the day was extremely surreal. Thankfully, before I could drift too far off into wonderland, I reminded myself of the very essence of the day's event and that made every tweezed hair totally worth it. The wedding ceremony was perfect and I was proud to have been a part of it, and not just any part, a very essential and crucial part, so crucial the wedding couldn't have gone on without me :-P.

[caption id="attachment_206" align="aligncenter" width="510" caption="The Rebellious Make-Up"][/caption]

Now to Marcelle and Tai, thanks for the wonderful experience, thanks for bringing out the woman in me (despite the fact that it was only for a few hours). All together, it was a great experience, one that I may not want to repeat too often, but would undoubtedly cherish for now and for always.

To all of you who are thinking "This is it. This is what will change Freddy. Now she'll start making her face up to places and throw in some skirts and dresses into her wardrobe." Well ... I hate to disappoint you, but it WON'T! It will take a lot more than one pretty dress and make-up session to convert me. But I'll be happy to do it once or twice a year, only next time I'll charge for my service, simply because I put some umph into the ceremony.

Waiting for the Jump Off

Today there's going to be some serious talk. I'm tearing out a page in my diary and letting you into it. I hope you enjoy the read.

...you see, I don’t see myself as an introverted person. In fact I am extremely extroverted...when I choose to be. Yet for some reason I think I could use a little getting out there...if you get what I mean.

I usually blame it on the fact that I don’t have many outlets of expression and the few are available ones are corrupted by hiplife artists, wannabes and school dropouts. Ergo, I sit in my bed, fiddle with my MacBook Pro and strike great acquaintances with the applications on it, or I check out new gadgets on Engadget dot com and drool over the outrageous contraptions that fall from outer space unto the laps of geeks responsible for bringing us closer to the future - at least that’s what we are suppose to believe. It’s really not that big of a deal. I prefer the comfort of my company rather than being at the peril of undereducated individuals who might potentially downgrade my intelligence.

I am not the kind of person that would shy away from a crowd or be the one at the end of a bad joke. I quite enjoy intelligent banter that requires the usual interjection that we human beings employ to express their emotions. It is more often than not the exchange of pointless information. As you can see from all the evidence stated, I’m better off being by myself in my room.

Occasionally I like to experiment with the human race and see how far the art of socialising has developed over time. So I let go of my inhibitions and convince myself to engage in an outdoor event with a trusted friend. As a rule, I always enquire of the background of the other members of the party I might be unfamiliar with. The trusted friend often responds with “oh Freddy, you’re just crazy!”. But am I? I just can’t stand having "meaningful-less" conversations with people with bad grammar and/or poor sense of humour. The communication cycle simply travels a straight line downwards (at the mercy of gravity). I prefer dialogue of a more astute manner. It's just who I am. Luckily choosing the right type of friends means your friends choose the right type of friends too. The word "usually" being the operative word here.

Enough about my introverted notions about people and places. For most of my life, I believe that in some alternate reality I could become a stand up comedian. When you catch me in the zone and I’m on the roll cracking everyone up, I’m very good at it, I promise. Other times I feel that I could direct some extremely complicated stage show like a musical concert of maybe even an orchestra. But let’s just keep it simple. The thing is, I know that if I tried, I could. I see and feel myself doing and being that person, only I don’t know how I to get there - the realization of all these aspirations and conceptualisations. Trust me, there are many. There’s one little challenge I have identified - they call it "The Push".  For some reason I've been made to believe that it is someone else’s responsibility to push me into living that dream.

Imagine me sitting at the edge of the cliff waiting to be pushed off so I could fly and show off my beautiful wings. It's just silly when you think about it. See, I’m close to 30 and I’m asking myself how much longer am I going to sit at the edge waiting to be pushed off by some imaginary Good Samaritan. If I’ve managed to get to the edge of the cliff myself, I should be able to push myself off. What does it take? Just a simple slip would be good enough to push me over. I’ve been waiting for so long that I’ve made my home at the cliff and given all the rocks at the mountain edge names!

After much deliberation, I’ve come to a very simple solution. I have decided to become my very own Good Samaritan. I shall be the hand that pushes me off the cliff, the boot that propels me over. I will boldly walk off the edge, jump from my securities and fly into my insecurities (yes, I said that right), give myself up and be at the mercy of the wind’s gravity (assuming there’s any such thing), set these wings out to dry and feel fly, be with the birds and see things from their standpoint viewpoint.

For me, I guess the whole point is to rise up above the limitations and the fears and the worries and the hold-ups and just see that there’s so much more ahead. Sure a lot of water has gone under the bridge of life and age, and a lot more will go under, but instead of dwelling on that, perhaps we should look for the waterfall or the spring from whence the water cometh, instead of following the trail of used up water.

So the next time you see me on the street and I have gusto to my gait and a pep to my step, please know that I’ve flown off the edge and I’m turning every moment of my life into a great moment to enjoy. I’m tired of waiting around for someone to kickstart me, I’m kicking myself in the butt and getting out there, taking the territories, jumping the bungees, shaking down mountains, robbing the banks (did I just say that?), whatever, daring to be greater and bigger than I imagine in my dreams. Hoping that by the time I’m 50, I would have crossed at least 100 items off my bucket list.

Watch out people, here comes the next world wonder!!!

Here’s my advice to anyone waiting for a jolt of lightning to do something with themselves, I’ll tell you this now; You are wasting your time. It’s your life, you are the one responsible for living it and nobody else. Mr. Innocent Bystander cannot determine the amount of energy you require for the jump off; nor can he predict what time of the day you need that bolt to run through your system, so you might as well create your own gust of wind and fly off the edge. I’m just saying...

CELEBRI-TREES

So the other day I was talking with my mum (my number 1 inspiration) about Ghana and our so-called celebrities.  We came to the obvious, yet painful conclusion that besides team members of the Black Stars, no one else comes under the celebrity status tag in Ghana.

Think about it, where do Ghanaian celebrities hang out? Where do they go to eat? Where do they shop? Where to the live? Do we have a community that's the preserve of our stars. Say, Trassaco Valley? Wouldn't that be an awesome place for all the hiplife artists? Naa man, even the producers/promoters are all “straiggling”. In Ghana, most artists live in the studios of their producers. Not because they are waiting for a sudden and an unplanned outburst of creativity in the middle of the night, it's simply because they have no where else to be. They only come out during events and shows and try to pretend to be all starry, when we know that they are merely shattered pieces glass that glisten in the sun’s rays. Were we to do the Ghanaian version of MTV Cribs for our stars, excluding our Black Stars, we may not have enough worthy enough homes for 10 episodes.

[caption id="attachment_171" align="aligncenter" width="360" caption="These are some of our "Stars" "][/caption]

One might ask, what about our movie stars? Surely they must have it good, seeing as they act endlessly in 10-part movies. They should be able to afford half a million dollar homes and more. Nay, I tell ya, a big NAY! They are probably the worst of them all. Who is Nadia Buari? Who is Jackie Appiah or Van Vicker? I can assure you that it'll take them twelve lifetimes to reach the star status of Angelina Jolie, Julia Roberts or Denzel Washington. Make-up artists and stage prompters in Hollywood make better money per movie than our highest ranked stars. So don't you go "kyere-ing" your skin on me and telling me that you are a star. Chances are that I make more money than you, I live in a better house and I most likely eat better.  If I go to Aunty Muni, I can bet my last pesewa that I can see at least 3 stars coming in to buy waakye or even sitting down to eat on the benches like the rest of us. Not because they want to mingle with the common folk, it is because they are just a common a folk like every other common folk!

I’ve seen models, tv and radio presenters there on countless occasions. It’s the truth guys. What’s in a star if you’re wherever the common man is? Like the stars up above, there are only 2 ways to get to them; 1. I must become one of them. 2. I must have enough money to go into space and then perhaps I can be within 100 feet or more from one.

So my advice to them, is that until they can pay for the latest Lambourgini in cash, or live in a million dollar home, they should all get off their high horses and get their heads seriously in the game. Until Ghanaians find the need to create a celebrity inspired shopping arcade, or a celebrity inspired hair salon, where it cost $100 and over for a hair cut/do; until there’s a restaurant so pricey that each meal could pay for your rent; until we get paparazzi who follow our camouflaged stars from place to place, then please forget it.

I’m sure Essien and his buddies don’t feel that buzz that comes along with being a celebrity the moment they step through Kotoka International. Ghana has a way of stripping you off your star status. Tell me, which of our stars would you die to have an autograph of? Which of them would you step out in the rain to catch a glimpse of?

Most of the faces on our TVs sit with us in trotros, drive decade old cars and shop from Gap like the rest of us. If Rihanna were to step in one of Accra’s clubs right now, you’ll see the crowd around her. If MzBel stepped right next door in Togo or Burkina Faso, they’ll only take note of her ‘cos she might not be wearing the traditional outfit of the Burkinabes. Apart from that, she’s as common a person as the dirt in the sand to them. While I'm on that topic, please, and I really mean it, please, let's refrain from referring to Ghanaian songstresses as DIVAs.

Definition of DIVA

n., pl., -vas, or -ve (-vā).

1. An operatic prima donna.


2. A very successful singer of nonoperatic music: a jazz diva)

Examples are Anastacia, Whoopi Goldberg, Beyonce, Mary J. Blige, Toni Braxton, Sarah Brightman, Mariah Carey, Belinda Carlisle, Cher, Natalie Cole, Deborah Cox, Céline Dion, Judy Garland, Kathryn Grayson, Kathy Griffin, Deborah Harry, Billie Holiday, Gloria Estefan, Lena Horne, Whitney Houston, Chaka Khan, Gladys Knight, Jennifer Lopez, Patti LuPone, Madonna, Liza Minnelli, Kylie Minogue, Dolly Parton, Diana Ross, Dalida, Donna Summer, Tina Turner, Vanessa Williams, TAFKA Ally and a few others.

[caption id="attachment_169" align="aligncenter" width="400" caption="Patti Labelle, a true diva"][/caption]

According to the above stated definition, the only Ghanaian songstress I know who comes close to Diva is Bibie Brew. I think people like Patti Labelle, Anita Baker, Barbara Streissand, Aaliyah, would have a fit if you put them in the same category as MzBel and Mimi. I'll leave it there for now.

Off the cuff, name any Ghanaian who can step into almost any country and perform in front of a teeming crowd. And I'm not talking about the Ghanaian community in that country.

If you think you are a star and walk around in Ghana acting all star-like, remember that you're simply a well-known, under paid entertainer. Take this from me, if you walk around with a chip on your shoulder because people see you and recognize you, clip off those wings. The journey to a fully fledged entertainment industry is one of a million miles. And we are barely 5 steps into it. I don't care what anyone says, until our artistes wear $20,000 outfits per performance and not repeat Accra shada at shows in Kumasi or Takoradi I still maintain that there are no stars in Ghana, only entertainers. M'aka m'aka!

Ras Winnie

Today, I had a very interesting moment in traffic. It had to do with my hair.

Ever since I started wearing my hair natural, I've had several comments from people: friends and foe alike. For those of you who know me, I have dreads not for any religious reasons or beliefs but simply for the fact that that was the only way I could wear my hair natural without having to wrestle with a hair dryer.

I'm not rastafarian, although my rastafarian friends believe that I possess some "root" characteristics.

Very often I'd have what I term "the nod" from my rastafarian brethren. Some even attempt to speak Patois with me. They only realize halfway that I'm absolutely clueless and then decide to switch to a more comprehensible language. Rastafarians intrigue me. The way they walk, dress, talk. It's the pounded fist greeting (thats the  right hand out streched in salute style only it goes to the heart instead of the side of the head), which I personally think is very hygienic; or the thumping of the chest; perhaps its just that they call their women Empress. Whatever it is, I just think that true Rastas are cool. Just the way they are fascinates me and I don't mind them thinking that I'm worthy of their association/company.

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Because I don't wear make up and sometimes prefer to wear native sandals when I'm out, I usually get mistaken for a Rasta Woman. Most people who don't know me well describe me as the Rasta Woman and that's ok by me. Quite a few of my friends call me Ras Winnie anyways. Frankly over the past 7 years of having dreads, my hair has had more attention than myself. When I started, people would look at my hair rather than my face when they were talking to me. It annoyed me, but soon enough, it became a great icebreaker for many a wholesome conversation. And now, I don't mind the attention.

This afternoon's incident was one of such Ras-moments on the streets of Osu. I was driving towards the stadium and as I cracked my knuckles (a very bad habit) on the steering wheel I accidentally honked my horn, attracting the attention of a rastaman who sold electronics along the Kingdom Books Stationery road. They guy quickly looked up and waved at me. Then he walked up to the car and motioned me to roll down the window and gives me a very big smile. Then the smile goes down just as suddenly as the it came up. He had mistaken me for someone else. Just as he was apologizing for the mishap, he looked at my hair and asked if my hair was "a natural dread" as he put it. I said yes, then the smile got wider. Then the traffic signals hit green so I had to move. Lucky for him, the signal turned red just before I could cross. I looked in my rear view mirror and there was Ras-(I forgot his name) running after the car.

He stopped by the car and asked my name. I said "Yaa" and then he beams through the knotted beard and says "Empress Yaa". That just made my day! I laughed and immediately, he switched to Patois mode. In my head, I'm like "dude, I don't get a word of what you saying"; but on my face, I had a smile. I mumbled something in response and just then the lights turned green for go. He pounded his heart with his fist, smiled under the hot Osu sun and waved goodbye to his newly found Empress...or something like that. It's difficult to make up a fairy tale that involves two rastafarians in the middle of the scorching sun in Osu.

That I believe was the highlight of my day. Yours maybe the coconut seller or even the guy who sells rat poison. Whatever the case, we all have things that intrigue us and things that makes us smile. All I want to say is that, let's enjoy those moments as best as we can. That might just be the highlight of their day too.

One love, peace and Jah Bless.