Sunken place

Currently in a sunken place

Wish I could just escape

They call it an illness

When it’s just a wish

I don’t want to partake

I pray to God he takes my life

Sorry for the offence caused.

Wish I’d wake up and realise

Leaving my mistreated body behind

The spirit lifts.

And I look back at myself.

The rain falls at night following a day of sunshine

I made it through the day because I was occupied with things to do

I smiled, I laughed, they were none the wiser

I just want to leave but have no courage to act

Life is not for me

My family and friends will feel sad and that makes me feel bad but I’m mad.

Why am I like this?

The sun will shine again and act as though we’re best friend.

It’s just this night with the rain

Excruciating pain.

Tomorrow is another day


Sexual Favours

In a recent interview with CNN journalist- Christiane Amanpour, Moesha Bodoung, a 20 something year old Ghanaian model and actress, most notable for her voluptuous figure, afforded by cosmetic surgery, proffessed that the state of the Ghanaian economy meant that, ‘you need someone to take care of you’ and that care giver was older men.

When probed further she confirmed that this was in exchange for sexual favours.

As one can imagine, this revelation didn’t go down so well with the straight living citizens of Ghana who retorted that they were still able to make an honest and decent living despite the bleak state of the economy.

Ironically, the interview took place at a nail bar, a luxury treatment very few can afford. What viewers found most unpalatable about the discussion was the revelation that she was sleeping with a married man.

The interview highlighted an issue that seemed to be swept under the carpet. Young vulnerable women being dependent on older men.

The interview struck a nerve with me for a number of reasons. I wasn’t offended that she was sleeping with men for money ( indeed, my philosophy on this matter has changed over the years). I was most turned off by the fact that she had no remorse or guilt about sleeping with a married man. There were far too many negative factors for me to side with her.

If you’ve read my previous posts you would know about my angst whilst having an affair with a married man. Something I am not proud about but have written openly about. I believe that no self respecting woman ever feels good about sleeping with a married man.

Another thing that struck me was her naivety and simpleness. If she has any desire of getting married, this interview and many others she has given, where she presents herself as what can only be described as a prostitute, is sure to surface and bite her in her silicone butt.

Inability to defer gratification seems to be a trait with a few millennials and post 80s babies, a sweeping statement I know. Rather than live a humble life and strive to achieve the things she wants, Moesha rather is said to live in an affluent area in Tema, Ghana. She has no concept of building a foundation first. She rather has built on sinking sand. What if he one day refuses to pay her rent ?

The main reason why this post resonated with me was because the 48 year old man I was going to marry was having a relationship with a 22 year old woman. What this interview highlighted was the dark stark reality of the happenings in Africa and I’m sure other parts of the world. Whilst I thought the age gap between us was wide, the truth of the matter was that he was looking for a younger model and will continue to trade in women if ‘the econony’ stays as it is.


‘It’s not right, if this were a relationship I would have left by now’. I sobbed.

I stood in the staff room kitchen, disorientated, soaked, and most likely smelling of decaffeinated coffee. Had my mind and actions been aligned I would have forseen the disaster that was ensuing .

My colleague tried desperately hard to cheer me up whilst handing me kitchen roll to dab at the wet patches on my top and trousers. It was in vain. Lucky for me I was wearing black so it was unnoticeable just olfactible.

Like me, she too knew and felt what I was going through. Her comforting words did not go unappreciated.

The coffee accident was not the problem it was rather the result of an unsettled mind.

I had only been in this job for 16 months. I was working flat out to raise the standards of my department, but I was burning the candle at both ends and had become exhausted and bitter about everything.

I gave so much of my time and effort to my form group, my students, parents, colleagues and other staff, I neglected the most important person – me.

I prided myself on the title.

What do you do ?
‘I’m a teacher.’ I would reply. Leaving the recipient to do and think what they will with the information. At the end of the day, I knew it was a suitable and respectable proffession with trust that I could co-sign an application form for anyone I could attestify to knowing. The reality was that in the 6 years that I had been teaching, I only signed one passport application.

A teacher!

The respect that this title bore was similar to being called a wife, with it came a mark of maturity and womanhood. However, underneath it all, I was painfully exhausted, frustrated, depressed and unfulfilled.

This was not what I came into teaching for. As a young looking black woman I was also up against a few more hurdles compared to my male or Caucasian counterparts.

With nothing else to feel proud about what would I then say when asked what I do. A thirty something year old with no progression in her career or life.

I searched for other jobs and came to the resolve that I could find another school to work at, but I knew the education system just like the health service or prison service, was insufferable. I had to leave completely and with that would come a pay cut and retraining.

I thought I had a calling to teach but there seems to be another calling… Unless I’m mistaken?

Life ….never goes as planned, 1 step forward, 5 steps back.

Roaming alone in Rome

This time last year, I believe it might have been today, I uncovered incriminating messages on my fiances phone that led our relationship towards a dead end. I left him and found my own way.

A year later, as I prepared for the Easter holiday, I knew I had to create new and positive memories for myself.

Following a particularly stressful day at work, I went home and on a whim, booked a trip to Rome for me, myself and I.

Although I had lived abroad some time ago, I really wanted to experience what it would be like as a lone traveller. My biggest fear was getting lost, being robbed or experiencing racism.

Neither happened although I’m certain I was refused service at McDonalds. Both employees conveniently left as I approached to make my order.

I purposefully booked a hotel that was central and hopped on and off the tourist bus daily