A Face book personal assessment quiz which declared my life to be adventurous, chances of mixing with culturally different people. I was blessed with one whole month of vacation in India and as it relates to the assessment; the extremities of life, of locations, surroundings and experiences.
Smell of jasmine flowers and sandalwood soap, blue wall paint, undated dust on the tables and gossiping officers. Conical chai glasses, smell of paan, constantantly ringing telephone, jarring fan, sweaty and exhausted souls. That’s perangipettai.
Parching sun, hot air on your cheeks, the impressive skyline, and a concrete jungle. Of all the things, larger than Life windows, bathrooms / relaxation rooms. Smell of designer perfumes, spanky houses and green roads. Thats Dxb.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Twenty steps
It’s just a short walk from my house till office, some 20 steps. And everyday I find myself in a new state of mind when am taking those 20 steps. The initial days were of satisfaction; of moving so close to the office, of not waiting at the long queues of never ending traffic. I leave the house everyday with a small prayer that those twenty steps should be peaceful for me. I somehow guess the plan of the whole day in those steps.
My two by two sized cleaner is usually the first person I meet. A strong bodied African, for whom God has denied the best African feature; height. He hardly reaches my height when he puts his head up, to wish me, “good morning madaame!” in his toothy smile.
I dread the day when the secretary comes running, stopping me halfway with a problem. That day is not my day. There are other days too, when I meet my neatly dressed students chatting in the local language near the summer huts. Ghanaians are simple and loud by nature and when they talk you can hardly make out if they are arguing or just chatting. Well, arguments and debates are looked as a healthy way of communication. The topics vary from football, local politics or just youngsters. A radio blaring the latest debate is omnipresent at any local office. Fridays are in particular very bright. There is a wave of celebration. Most of the farewells, parties on-campus happen on this day. So every Friday morning there is a louder, cheerful bunch at the porch. They all have come in their brightest Friday wear, girls dressed lil sexier and ready to party and men flaunting their latest gadgets. Ipod, I phones, chronograph watches and of course cars. All is shiny and bling on this day.
What doesn’t fit is the obroni (local word for white) woman, yes that’s me! But how easily they make me at home, how easily I take those twenty steps and glide back home to my waiting daughter. Did I call it home? Yes it is, 3 years down the line I consider Ghana as home, …………………………………..second home.
My two by two sized cleaner is usually the first person I meet. A strong bodied African, for whom God has denied the best African feature; height. He hardly reaches my height when he puts his head up, to wish me, “good morning madaame!” in his toothy smile.
I dread the day when the secretary comes running, stopping me halfway with a problem. That day is not my day. There are other days too, when I meet my neatly dressed students chatting in the local language near the summer huts. Ghanaians are simple and loud by nature and when they talk you can hardly make out if they are arguing or just chatting. Well, arguments and debates are looked as a healthy way of communication. The topics vary from football, local politics or just youngsters. A radio blaring the latest debate is omnipresent at any local office. Fridays are in particular very bright. There is a wave of celebration. Most of the farewells, parties on-campus happen on this day. So every Friday morning there is a louder, cheerful bunch at the porch. They all have come in their brightest Friday wear, girls dressed lil sexier and ready to party and men flaunting their latest gadgets. Ipod, I phones, chronograph watches and of course cars. All is shiny and bling on this day.
What doesn’t fit is the obroni (local word for white) woman, yes that’s me! But how easily they make me at home, how easily I take those twenty steps and glide back home to my waiting daughter. Did I call it home? Yes it is, 3 years down the line I consider Ghana as home, …………………………………..second home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)