You don't know the Thing. I'm teaching you the Thing

Small girl. I love it when people call me that here. Much better than ‘Obruni’ (white man) , or ´Mama´, or worse ´White´. ´Hey White, you can´t park here´ (random men on the street who decide they have a say in where I can park). Imagine saying that the other way around. Or ´Mama, please, something small for your friend´ , (those poor boys that take you by surprise splashing water on your window at the traffic light and wash the car).

But lately, I have been a bit confused. Whenever someone calls me small girl they add ´you don´t know the ting´, look me up and down and smile . What is that supposed to mean I kept wondering for a while. What Ting, or Thing? And I would just smile politely. Innocence is bliss.

But then I read this report on teenage pregnancies. The last page included recommendations from district education officers on how to prevent teenage pregnancies which is a huge problem here, causing girls to drop out of school. At first it made me furious as one of the suggestions was that girls should be wearing more proper clothes, so teachers (!) and boys were less tempted. Sure. I´m not even going to comment on that one as this argumentation upsets me too much.

Another recommendation was that the song ´ Small girl, you don´t know the thing´ should be banned from the radio as it causes bad behaviour. That, of course, triggered me and I did a little google search. And now I hear this song everywhere on the radio. And even though the video is provocative and as an educationalist that tries to improve gender sensitive schools I shouldn´t approve it, it gives a fairly good impression why they give me dirty smiles these days when calling me small girl. And it´s a master class in some lovely dirty Ghanaian dancing. Enjoy.

Saturday nights Accra-style

Living in a somewhat boring city full of expats results in two things. One: many people start binge drinking. Two: people look for entertainment in various other ways, eg watching all episodes of Cold Feet in one weekend, train for marathons, develop a passion for baking or –my favorite- organize costume parties. Never in your life would you have time to sew an outfit and look for accessories for weeks in different markets. And considering that most of my friends moved here with one or two suitcases with boring work clothes, it’s not easy to dress like an Alice in Wonderland character, Don Draper or one of his classy ladies, a Cowboy, Chinese Year of the Rabbit, a Ghanaian Chief or a Rubik Cube.

But here, with all the help cooking, ironing, washing, cleaning, driving you, there is plenty of time for such fun things. And people really go out of their way. Just sharing some of the gems:








So after my delicious nespresso this morning (seriously, after 2 years of watery nescafe this new gadget produces liquid gold!) I'm on a mission today to find a water pistol for my cowboy outfit for Friday's party.

But before you may think that dressing up is restricted to bored expats: I'm taking my (cowboy) hat off to my friends who managed AGAIN to get into this super expensive but fun 3 day Dutch music festival for free. Last year dressed up as bee-keepers, this year they are "grass-specialists" keeping the grass at the festival fit and green even after thousands are dancing on it. Sure. Oh and the grass-specialist on the left is marrying us next summer.

Community Vocational Training Centre Nima