What’s The Upside Of Lying?

November 8, 2016 § 4 Comments

Two younger male friends said something to me this past week that struck me a bit. In rethinking back on those separate convos, I know I shouldn’t be that naive about what they said, but on some level, I’m amazed that they were comfortable with the reality they painted. That reality was essentially this:

Ghanaian women lie all the time.

The first guy admitted and was even resigned to accepting the reality that his girlfriend plays the field behind him, and that since its Gh, she was going to do it anyway.

We’d been talking about the main subject from my previous entry. The second guy is single by choice and was so, largely because he, too, didn’t see any value in the dating games Ghanaian women seem very accustomed to.

I get when you’re hedging and being cautious about who to slope with, especially if you’re futuring and trying to make sure you find the best possible life partner. But what I don’t get is the level at which the Ghanaian woman are so comfortable with lying. She’d be in bed with one guy and tell you she’s home trying to sleep. That guy wouldn’t care if she turns over to then whatsapp other men. After all, like the first guy, he, too has accepted this is what they all do, so you don’t risk upsetting her when all you’re looking to do is get laid.

I make a bad boyfriend here. If you’re a woman who’s particularly secretive and likes to juggle several love interests, I’m usually the type you prefer to avoid. I never forget anything you say, so if your stories and excuses don’t add up, my warning bells start ringing. I test you to see what your tell is, then from there, I’m always able to see when you’re lying. And I also almost never go by what you say, but by what you do.

When they see that I can and will check on them, they keep their distance. I can and will respect your privacy. I can give you space to breathe and have your independence. But what I cannot entertain is that constant reel of lies.

So that takes me back to my initial fascination with this behavior I think is uniquely Ghanaian: why lie?

What is gained in the long term from all those lies? The men who approach you and make promises; wine and dine you- all know you’re full of lies. The cool calm, seemingly aloof 20-something who doesn’t rock the boat when you call other men in his presence also knows you’re full of lies. He could even know you’re coming to his bed from another man’s bed and will still not say anything all in the hopes of getting some. Then there’s guys who are genuinely interested in that long-term relationship, who aren’t willing to play games. They, too, quickly see right through your bs and peel away.

Here’s what ends up happening: those who play along all end up uselessing you. A guy freely admitted this and I’d heard it said elsewhere. And what they’ll say is this: “if she brings it, I’ll eat.”

The men know and now know how to play you to get into your pants. And the good ones either stay clear or you just avoid you when they let you know they see right through you. So if this is what the lies and games get you, why continue with it?


On Whether To Sit It Out Or Dance.

October 30, 2016 § 4 Comments

A few weeks back, I got the pleasure of meeting a visiting friend of a fellow blogger. I usually don’t take reclusive self into town, but this time, I wanted to show this friend that I could and would slope past Tetteh Quarshie after 6pm. Things went relatively well. It was a bit awkward not knowing most of the people assembled, but the ever gracious host made it all feel a bit comfortable. The visiting friend was even more genial and made me wonder the last time I smiled and laughed that much.
Anyway, while I waited for any transport to take me further north to Ogbojo to my aunt’s for the night, I started wondering why dating in Accra felt so hard. I enjoyed talking to this very attractive lady. I wasn’t interested, but enjoyed hearing about her life stories, her beliefs…I think we managed to run the topical gamut during our nearly 3-hour chat session. 

I enjoyed spending time with her and getting to know a bit about others who had joined into our small paper. What bothered me later was why this stuff didn’t happen more often. She was open, warm, very smart, and where I may have fumbled, she didn’t feel any need to guillotine me for my small mistakes. If anything, she felt very candid, surprisingly relatable, and even trusting. I had almost forgotten how it felt like talking to someone from a western culture.

Let’s switch a bit to my local dating pool for a second. A few months back, I met this beautiful and seemingly well-coiffed 30-yr-old at her health facility. She’d later confess that she had designs on me the moment I walked through her building’s front doors. She was single, had been disappointed by men, rarely dated. It was standard rescue symptoms. I bought it and was smitten. I also found out later that she had been pursuing me pretty hard, but my phone had been off for days. And when we finally got to talking, it became a nearly 5-hr run of just how much we clicked and fit. 

I asked several times about her availability and was always reassured she was single. Anyway, things went well that night…maybe a bit too well since we managed to meet (lived in the same area) and got busy. I had been reluctant to do it, but it happened.

The next day, I learned it was all a lie. There was a boyfriend- fiancé, actually! This hadn’t been her first time cheating on him. There was also that growing list of suitors all hoping to get into her pants (sorry! “marry her”!). My perfect future partner had now become…normal.

This was your typical Ghanaian woman. I had mistaken her position as a corporate admin, education, her ass, and even her ability to mimic American lingo to believe she was a good as I’d hope for here in this town. But she was normal. The sob story was there. The boyfriend, side partners, and the monied waiting suitors were all there. We haven’t recovered from that painful reveal ever since. 

So where do some of us fit in this dating culture? I’m too smart for the secretive girl because sooner or later I’d figure out her lies and women like that prefer the aloof/ignorant idiot who swallows every story she feeds him while she uses her phone to meet other men.

As much fun as the younger working service industry girl looks, she too plays the same game. And more often than not, it’s a lifestyle long woven into her DNA before unsuspecting noobs like me ever fell into their traps.

Even the good girl has her list of “friends” who sponsor her. She may not be giving it to them, but she’d have that serious boy she’d forget to mention to you, only to admit it after she’s gotten enough from you.

Then there’s the returnee/expat crowd. On some level this sect should be relatable, but here too, you’re apt to run into a blend of bitch disease. Even where you might actually hit it off with a nice one you’d meet on that rare occasion, she may not be as genial and approachable as the lady from the first scenario.

So what happens is instead of finding someone to start something with, we all fall into this gray dating pool. You can’t relate to the local; you can’t find your ideal match in your returnee crowd because they’re far too splinted and too picky to waste your energies on; and the larger pool is there only to play silly, needlessly selfish games with you.

So, my people, especially those who can relate, what do you do when you look like them but too westernized to ever fit into their dating culture?

About That Bitch Disease…

April 10, 2016 § 6 Comments

This is my ideal woman: I want a 5’5-5’7″ slender yet curvy size 0-6. I might consider size 8 if the woman has some killer curves. I also want her to have soft, plump lips, a very perky 32B-34C cup; a small waist, soft hips like a track sprinter’s, a soft neckline, dainty fingers, caramel/milky skin; long silky hair that cascade down the small of her back…oh, and she needs to between 21 and 24.

What’s the first thought that comes to your head? Don’t tell me that; tell that to yourself. How does the description of my “ideal” mate make you feel. Let’s imagine for a second that I’m this incredibly fun, kind, honest, and the sweetest of men and you know this beforehand.

But how do you feel about me now after you’ve read what I want in a woman? Do you still find me appealing? Suppose, I could actually be the closest thing to a perfect mate for you…or even if not perfect, but we actually had a very good chance at clicking and building a beautiful life together…

Suppose all those possibilities we daydream about when it comes to the ideal partner could exist between you and me…would you be able to completely ignore my initial statement and overlook how those words grate at your sense of self and self worth, approach me, smile and strike up a conversation in hopes of starting a new long-lasting relationship with me? Can you sincerely do that?

Here…go back to my criteria again then come back to the second part of that last paragraph. How would you really view me? Forget the partner/relationship slope. How would you really feel about me?

It’s not exactly fair, is it? You qualify for the position, but I’ve made it almost impossible for you to get a chance to date me.

Now here’s the ugly truth: I’m a lot more liberal about my potential life partners than what that list describes, but what if you’re exactly what I am in my initial criteria?

I’m not saying don’t have standards or have designs for your Prince Charming. But resting on that bitch disease and its ostentatious and outlandish and improbable expectations will NEVER get you a man. I can almost guarantee you’ll never be on any man’s wish list if you keep those unreasonable wish lists. Not every man is tall, dark and handsome. Not every man holds that advanced degree, that six-figure job, or is rapidly scaling the rungs of Fortune 500! Try finding a good man in that select few. Impossible? No, but we’re getting highly selective here. Now here’s the kicker you never considered when you were making designs for this man in your fantasies: ever considered that very real possibility that you ain’t what he wants?

I’m not trying to get your hopes up. Many moons ago, I applied to Princeton. It was the biggest reach on my list of undergrads, but I was realistic. I had my safeties and strong possible entries in there, too. I eventually got my Carleton and Middlebury and that late Columbia admit. Have you considered the non-Princetons of the dating world? Midd might not have Princeton’s prestige and panache, but it’s still a damn good college, no? So why are you not considering that great guy who happens to not possess two degrees or work in finance?

When you throw up your crazy (yes, to me they’re not only crazy, but seriously off-putting) lists, do you ever consider your chances or how broad your dating pool really should be in finding that good mate?

I’m not here to tell you how to formulate your criteria for a good partner, but be realistic. While you narrowly pursue that trophy man you think deserve- who may end up being a serious douche- you’d be speeding past that good man with whom you could probably have a more richer and nurturing relationship.

My ex once told me what she missed most about me. On occasion, instead of going to the salon to wash her hair, she’d ask me to remove her braids or weave. I’d prop her head on a pillow between my legs and slowly tweeze out each single braid or gently cut and remove every single tight stitch. She’ll lay there quietly in bed with me while we talk about all kinds of topics as we worked through the next hour to release her natural hair from all those extensions. She didn’t talk about missing my money, or what I’d spend on her, buy for her, or places I took her. It was those little and unassuming moments she missed most; it was that, the facials, full-body massages, cooking and even bathing her. Notice how none of these costs anything but just a few moments in time?

So when that bitch disease flares up, kindly pause and ask yourself if the trophy criteria we draw up for our ideal partners is what we really want in the long run from the partners we hope will nurture and care for us while we build lives and families together.

Hold The Shower…Just Tell Me What You Really Think!

February 1, 2015 § 6 Comments


I try not to look back lately at shoulda, coulda, wouldas, but if I should answer very honestly, I would say two things: I should’ve waited and gotten married before coming back. When you live half your life in a developed world and totally adopted its almost every custom, reverting back to backward third-world attitudes can be a bit of a challenge- especially dating attitudes and norms that are polar opposite of how you view relationships. It’ll be 4yrs in March and I have yet to meet a single LOCAL Ghanaian woman who I relate to or who understands me.
The other thing I would do differently is save up. Life is full of many unexpected twists and turns and having that sturdy financial rudder in muddy waters like the Ghanaian economy will go light years in helping make the transition for you a lot easier. Figure out your monthly living expenses and try to save 18 months worth of spending. And should you be coming to start a new business, save 24-30 months worth of spending. It might seem like a lot, but money runs in this very volatile economy. If you can’t do that, then I suggest you stay away until you can afford Ghana.


Honest, don’t come back. Ok, I kid…but now is not a good time to be coming back to Ghana. On the other hand if you really do want to come, make sure you secure a permanent job that pays you in dollars, pounds or euros. If not, delay those plans for 2-3yrs.


Hmmm…I’m not all crazy about local Ghanaian women. I’m not sure that extends to all black women.
Do I think what I left back in the US is better? And by “left back” I’m assuming you mean white women…then that’s a resounding YES! (rolls eyes) That answer your question? Stings like the dickens doesn’t it? Sometimes, I don’t get why you’d ask some of these questions that are easy bait for me to eviscerate your already fragile self esteem. Yet, you always serve yourselves on a platter for someone like me.
Similarities? None. There aren’t any. You can’t compare kobe beef to chichinga.
Differences? There are so, so many! Just so you know, I haven’t even started so try not to tweek me with comments or questions like that!


The hard truth? I don’t think locals much… like…foreigners. The Ghanaian hospitality is largely overblown. Don’t get me wrong…they’ll give you their bed and last plate of food if need be. But the niceties have a short shelf life. They will tire of you within a few short weeks. The ass-kissing will remain, but the inferiority complex will still be simmering underneath. They will resent you for everything they aren’t and may never be. If they can, they’ll bad-mouth you. The broad ear-to-ear infectious smiles will still remain, but give them a lil’ privacy and their true feelings about the you they don’t know will surface. Now, that is if you’re white. If you’re brown-skinned like them, your accent will take you just as far on the ass-kissing, but eventually, they’ll wonder why you would want to be in their decrepit country when they’ll do anything to be in yours. Also, the friendly you are, the more they’ll start to see you as their equal. Trust me on this: that ain’t good! It’s their opening to really not think highly of you. You’re one of them. But don’t worry, the fake smiles and ass-kissing will remain 😛

Your Very Own Confessional

January 28, 2015 § 8 Comments

I’m going to try something different here. A lot of you lurk, a few brave ones comment and some just quietly email me privately. That’s ok, too.
But I’ve had some sort of block when it comes to writing over the past year as you can see. Last night, I wrote something about dating and hit a wall. Not a creative wall per se, but I felt a bit tired. Problem is, whenever I take a break, I almost never return to my essay. I now have some 40 drafts  may never finish.

On the other hand, I’ve noticed when I’m asked specific questions, I can crank out 3-4 pages on a touch screen of all things and not lose steam.

So, I wanna see what questions and thoughts YOU have. Ask me anything…and I do mean ANYTHING! It can be able dating, blogging, Ghana, Ghanaian skanks. I’ll tell you what you won’t hear anywhere else. This will be like your own confessional, but your anonymity is held even in my public answers. Don’t ask me a stupid question like asking help to hook you up. That will just be wasting both our times and you know better than to irritate me.

Seriously, I’m more blunt and honest than Abe himself, so sit back and think up your question. They can even be x-rated. I’ll try my best to answet that, too!

So let’s have at it! I’ll write up a reply to all your questions and post them in a day or two.


Don’t Forget To Close Your Mouth

January 27, 2015 § 3 Comments

“He forced me.”
“How? What did he do?”
“You don’t want to know…”
“He held me down…I didn’t want to do it…”
“So he…rapes you?”
“It’s why I sleep on the camper chair”
“Didn’t you say he was good to you? …that he appreciates you?”
“…when it happens, I stop and just lie there. I don’t do anything…me yi me ni”

“He’s not like you”

I could say more, but seriously, raping a girl or woman who sleeps next to you doesn’t make you a man. I know somehow Ghanaian women are brought up to think their vaginas belong to their husbands to use if, when, how, and however long they want. I’ve had sex three times over an hour. First time, I was 22 and we wanted to try all day…that didn’t go very well…3 hours maybe. I chaffed and was sore for days. Not fun! The next two were with her. At some point, when you know you won’t come, it becomes a chore you’d rather avoid…especially when you can no longer feel her. But you both love each other and enjoy each other’s company, so it doesn’t feel all bad.

But imagine being raped for 2 hours by a man at 1am you don’t even like but live with because he gives you chop money. She calls it casual rape or “forced,” but whatever euphemisms you choose to make it easier to swallow, it’s still 2 hours of being pounded by a man you don’t want inside you. And being a Ghanaman, he’ll make sure he’s rough and uncaring in his quest to squeeze a year’s worth of sex into one late-night session you can’t escape.

But he’s a man.

A few many moons ago this same she was in bed with me. I wanted it. She didn’t.
“I’m sleepy…wait till morning.”
Fair enough.
I gently stroked her neck and kissed it. Then some kisses to the shoulder…collarbone, bicep, elbow. As I did all this, I gently rubbed her back.
“Massage me,” she muttered from under the pillow.
I peeled off the blanket. Then I took out the cocoa butter and placed it the small of her back. I started out with the shoulder moving both hands at the same time up to her neck and back down her shoulders…then back…a gentle deep slide down her back. Think of your thumbs touching with the  remaining 8 fingers spread out to the ribs.

I kneaded up and down till I got to her buttocks. She almost reflexively raised her butt as I touched her panties to take them off. And off they came. Even if you’re clueless about massages, simply cup each butt cheek and gently knead. I kept going. The body that was tired and sleepy 10 minutes ago now had her legs opening more and more for inner thigh massage…attention is what it seemed to me.
I didnt bother too much with the massage at this point. It was a damned good one, but I like to spoil my partners. So on with an inverted upside down mouth on vulva “massage.”

I wasn’t doing it to get laid. It just felt like the thing to do. It’s 10 something…my middle finger slides in. She moans..it gets more intense.
“Put it in!”

After that night, massages became a nightly affair. She’d even come over in the afternoons to shower just so I would massage her with cocoa butter and do the other things.

You wanna get laid? Do what your woman enjoys. She’s not simply a warm body to use up for 2-hour nightly sessions whenever you get “hot.”

The Venerable, Vivavious, Vexing, and Voluptuous

January 4, 2014 § 14 Comments

“Let’s see. It tastes like a freshly-baked cake. The sweet scent permeates everything in the room. It tastes quite like honey, too! It never smells. It’s almost always moist and wet. It always fits and clamps around you like a screwdriver gripping a nail. Nothing, and I do mean nothing compares to it! Nothing!!”

Have I ever told you I can be really mean? I paused after intently stressing that last “nothing.” I then cooly sunk backwards into the wall. She stopped and almost froze in place. Her shoulders slowly fell as the paddle slowly slip from her grip. Her head hung low just as her back slouched into one of those depressing-looking gaunt and anaemic pictures of starving refugees. I’d never seen her so quiet. Her legs still rested on those metal anchors on the crow-pot. For a few seconds, I wondered if she’d forget I was there and lift up her cloth to compare hers to what I had just said. It was not easy to watch.

Here’s a bit of advice to anyone whose self-esteem and sense of self-worth aren’t exactly on solid ground: never ask your jokester friend a question you aren’t sure if its answer is something you want to know!

“No! There is no difference between a white girl’s vagina and yours!,” I shouted out!

I calmed her down without further pickaxing away at her obviously fragile self esteem.You can’t fault her. I’m very honest and easy to talk to about virtually everything.

So, I lied. There ARE differences besides color. No, I won’t tell you what they are…pervs! ;P

But this essay isn’t going to be about that. In my 30+ months in Ghana, I’ve been unwittingly entreated to some very perplexing, intriguing, and often times bemusing attitudes about sex- or more specifically about the vagina.

At first, I thought my experiences were largely attributed to these jonny-come-lately from the hinterland and their rather bonobo monkey-like attitudes about sex. But then I noticed that the coiffed, pius, phony and pretentious DBs were just as, if not more nuts about sex.
And me, you wonder? All I’ll say is this:

…Ha! Did you really think I’d be confessing on wordpress how big a horny toad I am? Lmao. Dream on!

I don’t imagine I’ll get any feedback, so I’m simply using today as a white wall. But what’s the obsession? I’ve seen everyone and their mother sell it. I’ve known mother and daughter doing pastor…who often preaches violently against fornication. I even know public/social personalities who sell theirs. They may not call it selling, but it definitey fits the definition. It’s been virtually reduced to a battering commodity. Earn this much; pay this much, buy this item, provide this service; present this (valued) look… and you can get me. I recently got this used Audi A4- “executive” car, someone called. Do you know how much tail I’ve been indirectly offered just because of that car?! Some women are unabashed about how frank they are in how they see their vag- or more profoundly, how they view it in terms of its cash value. Got money? I can show you a woman in your “class” ready to sell her goodies.

But let’s take a few steps back from this vagina-for-sale tangent before I lose track of what got me writing. Actually, I’ll try something here, but bear with me.

to be cont… 😛