To The Girl From A & C Mall
September 17, 2012 § 24 Comments
Yes, you. Do you remember me? You must; we only ‘met’ yesterday. I was sitting and texting in the courtyard adjacent to the café when you strode in. I was the guy who wrote madeinaccra.wordpress.com on the piece of paper and handed it to you before I left you and your friend to meet up with the lady who called me over from her car. Ah, yes, you do remember. I didn’t seem all that impressed as I hadn’t bothered to give you more than two glances when you sat across from me. That note from me wasn’t a come-on. I don’t do that with floozies like you. I just wanted you to read this.
Where shall I start?
I came to the mall to meet my friend to talk about work, not that it matters any to you. I also hate calling these barely-there shopping centres malls, especially when I done places like Mall of America too many times to count- even Newark Airport has more shops than both Accra malls put together. I hate it because Jonny-Just-Cames like you think ‘mall’ means time to dress up like clowns and it’s gotten very tiresome. Frankly, and lately, whenever I see tricks like you, I literally feel like throwing up. You noticed how I didn’t bother wearing more than a t-shirt, cargo shorts and slippers? Did you also notice most of the foreigners there didn’t bother dolling it up like you? That should always be your first hint that you’re doing it all wrong. Secondly… or perhaps I should list for you as reading a long essay might be too much for you? Let’s do a list.
- Your English accent is so barely there, it’s not even existent so don’t try it. I reckon from the girl who joined you that you’ve probably been there maybe just once? Maybe it’s the only place you’ve been to outside Ghana? Or are you one of those one-drop-till-18 babies? You grow up in all things Ghana, but since you were merely born there and returned briefly to get that passport, you think you’re British? Sorry to break it to you, but just because you take a villager out of the bush doesn’t mean she stops being one.
- In all honesty, y’all need to stop flashing out those BBs like they’re some real status symbol. My 14-year old niece has an iPhone 4S, and I know she doesn’t whip it out all the time to show she’s the ish. Btw, I’m very ok with my 30ghc Nokia. It does everything I need for now. BBs are so antiquated it’s not even funny. You pretenders are the only people in the world who go ga-ga over Blackberries. No one else uses them. It’s like black Americans a few years back being the only people I knew who used those T-mobile sidekicks and Microsoft zunes – until they realized they’re weren’t cool. You couldn’t pay me to even carry a blackberry.
- Your fake hair…ugh!! Talk about a very bad weave. Here’s a hint: when a guy can easily tell from 20 feet away that your hair’s fake, it’s high time you took it out! I personally prefer being able to run my fingers through a girl’s hair, so it’s fair to say, yours wouldn’t do it for me. Not impressed.
- I also couldn’t tell if you had on purple lipstick or some gaudy shade of pink. It was horrendous. Yuck! And in this heat and how dusty it gotten? Seriously?
- Burberry has three Rs not two. If you’re going to display that attitude of yours, better start by buying REAL designer labels! Need I mention I have three sisters and have seen just about every designer label you can imagine? Or that even my three oldest nieces have more fashion sense than two-bit Hos like you?
- The last two major towns I lived in were Hoboken and Manhattan. If you want a good marker for good looking women, these are some of the best places to look. I’m not saying this is my marker, but since you all insist on trying to look…dare I say it…white… (eek!), yours, my dear, wouldn’t even be a light year close to what I’d go for… NOT. EVEN. CLOSE.
- I know this is going to be very hard to swallow, but it’ll really help you some day. Ready? I’m not attracted to you. You’re not attractive. On some level, your looks at worse repulse me; at best, they’re a turn off. You have one thing going for you and that’ll be your ass, but here’s your problem: look around you. There are nice butts everywhere in Ghana! It’s not exactly some special asset you’ve got now, is it? Did you notice how I winced and recoiled when you took off your shades? That was me hoping you’d put them back on! See, your problem (and that of 99% of all the heifers gallivanting about Accra) is you think being outright bitches like those equally-ugly floozies in all those African movies make men see that you’re that exquisite beauty that’s impossible to get? Face it, for dudes like me, you’re an easy lay; I just don’t want you! One thing that galls me is how I’ve met, dated, befriended, and known some very pretty women, people you could never match in 100 years if you tried, and how these people NEVER put up that I’m-a-raving-bitch persona. Yet, you with your ugly mug think you’ve earned the right to show me this attitude, even when it’s unwarranted? I’ve more than earned the right to pull my elitist card, and I don’t do that, so where do you miss local Ghanaian skank get off believing you must try that shit with every guy you meet?
Personally, I prefer a woman I can fling over my shoulder (ala cave men…and that’s not to suggest I’m a lightweight, either). I simply like my woman to go from smaller and manageable to whatever normal fuller, curvy figure she’d have later in life AFTER she’s had our kids. Your already plump and bursting figure coupled with those sequoia-sized trunks you call thighs- that are already bigger than my already muscular 25-inch thighs are not a good starting point. I’m a solid fit 178lb; you’re what…say…5’2 160lb? And you think you’re hot shit? What would you be after 2-3 kids… 205lb? If I wanted a manatee, I’d go to Florida for one. Ghanaian men might go for that, but sorry, toots, your type don’t make my cut. That’s right. I have standards and here’s the shocker: you don’t even make its beginner level! Kai!! Bibini kurasenin! Y’all strut around thinking you’re the hottest thing to walk this earth, and when all these no-nothing Ghanaian men with no game chase after you, you fully buy into your own hype.
Next time you see a guy quietly facing you and fixed on his phone, don’t assume, he’s pondering what angle to use to approach your crusty ass. And don’t then proceed to mount that fake English accent with your friend and talk about him. You don’t impress me. Skin-tight spandex in those legs; with stripper shoes; over-sided bangles; and those Chinese designer knock-off shades? Were you auditioning for a part in an “African movie?” I’d be mortified to have any friend or family member see me even standing next to one of you. Ninety-nine percent of you DON’T impress me. To me you’re throwbacks, you’re dime-a-dozens; you’re jump-offs. I’ve met and known some of the most beautiful brown-skinned women in the world- including those in my own family…then I came to Ghana and had to be stuck with the likes of you… eww!
Oh, God! I totally forgot about your blackhead-riddled face. And was that a pimple on your lip?! EWWW!!!
(I think I just threw up in my mouth)