It’s so hard to live in this world that old white men created

It’s so hard to live in this world that old white men created – especially if you’re just an ordinary black person.

The extraordinary ones have got it good – the stooges and their descendants, you know, the ones that sold their own brothers into slavery, the warrant chiefs, the zealous christian converts who went to destroy their people’s temples etc… and the nice noble savages, the women who had kids with white men..etc And the rich black people – the rappers and athletes, the theiving heads of states, government officials and their friends and families.. see where I’m going with this?

First the white men came to our lands in Africa where we were minding our own damn business, looted our gold and art (some spent decades trying to prove we didn’t make such fine art that they were incapable of making themselves) Then they destroyed our cities and stole our people away to Europe & the Americas and forced them to be slaves in the most inhumane… most evil… most horrendous circumstances.

These white people, they whipped our people, treated them like animals, they killed them.

Hundreds of years later and they are still doing this to our people and it hurts so damn much.

I’m reading news and tweets from Ferguson and I’m tired all all this crap. Like, you won’t make reparations, okay fine. Just let us live in peace then. It’s so unfair that young black men get killed for holding a toy gun but a young white man gets calmly talked to and asked to lay down his weapon after shooting up a cinema.

I’m so tired of it all and it hurts so much because I know it will never end. Like, why didn’t they just leave us alone in our continent in the first place. Why enslave us, steal from us, destroy our monuments and colonise us. What the fuck did we do to deserve this shit? How can all this just be because we were created/born with a different skin colour?

You can’t escape this world that old white men created. If they left you in Africa, they left you in countries that they carved up because of natural resources… with no fucking concern for the peoples and clans they separated. They left you in countries poised to fail at independence because they had stolen so much from them and they controlled the markets and EVERYTHING. And if you got a president that wasn’t a fucking stooge and looked like he was leading the country to some semblance of dignity, they killed him and/or guided your country gently into civil war.

If you’re an ordinary black person, once you step outside your continent (except parts of North Africa & South Africa… and Trassaco Valley), everywhere you go in this world your chances of being treated like an animal increase exponentially. Even in India, where the people were colonised and enslaved too, because they have fairer skin and straighter hair, they feel they’re better than you and they might kill you.

They love our buttocks and penises and music and clothes and athletisicm and our “black culture”, but they never loved us, charley.

And if you die & you were bad, you go to hell and suffer. If you die a good person, you go to heaven with old white God where you’re still a second class citizen because everybody knows white people sit closer to Old White God on his right hand side.

PS: If you feel the need to tell me about “agency” and “exceptions”, can you not see that I’m mourning? Go blog about it on your own blog, you kwasia.


RIP Prof. Karel Bakker. Of brief interactions & lasting memories

archiafrika conference

Professor Karel Bakker was a voice of clarity in the chaos of my early explorations of what it meant to be an African architect. I met him at an ArchiAfrika Educational Network conference in Accra, and he left a lasting impression. I’m sad I will not get to meet him again.

Recently I’ve been thinking of perhaps doing my PhD closer to home, and South Africa came to mind when I remembered Prof. Bakker telling my friends and I about funding opportunities at his University of Pretoria.

At the that conference , he said something’s that have stayed with me – about being African and loving Africa being deeper than the colour of your skin. About how diverse the peoples and architectures of Africa are, and how that meant an African architecture had to go beyond the visual… A sentiment I agree wholeheartedly with as I search for my identity and place(s) as an African architect in this world.

His death also reminds me of one of my biggest failings as a person, something I’m always saying I’ll fix… which is keeping in touch with people I’ve met and liked/ admired. At that same conference, I rubbed shoulders with giants of academia in the field of the architecture of Africa.  I promised to write, and I haven’t. I’m fixing that tonight.


Heavy thoughts…

Thoughts and prayers with the family in these difficult times.

Use Your Brain.

Many many years ago, someone came to your land and decided that you were less human because of your dark skin, and because God said so. The person said you descended from Ham so were cursed to be a slave for eternity.

Today, you have decided that someone is less human because she has a vagina. You said a woman is destined to serve you because God said so.

This same God gave you a brain. Perhaps you should use it every now and then.

Oh Ghana Boys. 😂😂

A lovely friend shared that video of the adorable Pastor Dag singing a song about Ghana girls. I was so inspired, I decided to remix it! Now please note it’s all fun and games Nobody should be hurt. It’s some truths delivered in jest and happy spirits!

And NB: Not All Ghana Boys, but I couldn’t figure out how to fit that into the “song”. I’m no Sarkodie or Bisa K’dei

I laughed so hard when I saw pastor Dag’s video!
Laughter is indeed the best medicine.


Only 1 percent. Only 1 percent. Only 1 percent. Only 1 percent.

Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys.

The girls make more money

We do better in school

You can’t even provide

Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys.

What is left of you? What is left of you?

Silly songs in church. Silly songs in church.

Ecomini has catch you.

Only impressions. Only impressions.

Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys.

What is left of you? What is left of you?

Only 1 percent. Only 1 percent.

Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys.

What is left of you? What is left of you?

Less than 1 percent. Of what we want.

Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys.

What is left of you? What is left of you?

Only pot bellies

Only threats of stoning

Only threats of hanging

Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys.

Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys.

What is left of you? What is left of you?

Naija boys are finer.

Congo soldiers dey.

What is left of you?

Only 1 percent. Only 1 percent. Only 1 percent.

Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys. Oh Ghana boys.

I love my class!!! Idc idc idc

I mean it.
Like… I love my whole entire class. Everybody. I don’t understand it myself. How can every single person be so nice… and thoughtful… and genuinely trying to be kind?!

I was full of anxieties and apprehensions about studying African Studies in the University of Oxford of all places. Before school started, I wondered if turning down LSE and Edinburgh was the best decision I could have made. Now I’m here and it is grrrreat.

My friend Anji doesn’t like it when I say she’s perfect or refer to someone as perfect. Lol. The way my “perfect” works is … It’s not that the person has no flaws… It’s that it’s just so obvious that the person is trying hard to be a good person. And that’s enough for me.

One of my favourite things about my class is the depth of thought. We don’t all agree on the answers but you can appreciate the thought processes… You can see how open people are to other viewpoints. And I feel… really feel… like I’m having a conversation with people that think, and even better, LIKE thinking.

And the staff, how do I explain it? I know – it’s like all my favourite teachers from KNUST in various combinations and permutations of manifestations.

There’s various mixes of Dr. Kootin-Sanwu, Mrs Laing and Professor Intsiful. Open, knowledgeable, approachable, really cool and so so intelligent. And the non-teaching staff too. Oh how I miss Uncle Ken!

And my supervisor is amazing! That’s 2 out of 3 for me in terms of the supervisors I’ve had. Pow!

And then there are the seminars which most of the time are in areas I know nothing about. I go for the methodology and to hear how people ask questions.

Never before in my life have I been surrounded with so many people to learn from. I’m in academic heaven.
As for the weather and the food, that’s a whole other matter. For now, I’m basking in the awesomeness that is the African Studies Centre.

Rotten Musings

“If it favours me, I will defend it” That’s the way some people went a long time ago concerning the slave trade and racist laws.

You complain so much about being discriminated against based on the colour of your skin. Yet, you turn around and discriminate against others based on their gender.

It’s in the bible you say. Guess what else was justified with the bible? Slavery, Colonisation, Racism, Murder.

“Touch not my anointed” “Don’t you know he’s a man of God”. You know how Protestantism started? Let me tell you – by a group of people finding errors in the teachings of the Catholic Church. You know who a Protestant is? Let me tell you – It’s most of you non-Catholics. Dissenting Catholics opened the way for you Charismatics and Pentecostals. Someone challenged the status quo.

“If it favours me, I will defend it”. This is the way some of you have chosen to go.

I’ve stopped thinking about the thought process behind accepting the religion that was behind your people’s subjugation.

I’ve stopped wondering why the chapel in Elmina Castle was built on top of the slave dungeon and how people could reconcile “God is Love” with praying with the sound of suffering slaves in the background.

I’ve stopped thinking about how Jesus wasn’t a rich man on earth but some African pastors are among the richest while claiming to be Christian – Christlike.

I’ve stopped wondering how and why reasonable and intelligent people that I know and love keep going to those kind of churches. It’s a fruitless endeavour.

I’ve tried praying for stupidity or gullibility or a less questioning mind. Anything to make believing in God easier for me.


Raised by an overweight woman who mixes up her r’s and l’s
Raised by a prematurely bent man who irons people’s clothes for a living
Raised by a primary school teacher who says she and his when she ought to say he and hers
Raised by a Madina to Kaneshie trotro driver who started out as a trotro mate
Raised by a tired old market woman who dropped out of school in Primary 2 to work in a farm

Educated in the best public school she could afford
Extra studies teacher for Mathematics because you didn’t understand ratios and proportions
English textbooks and all the storybooks you wanted though he couldn’t read or write very well

Just so you could have a better life than they have

And all your working moments are spent trying to make enough to make him happy too
Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, you sit and pray… that she doesn’t die before you can afford to send her on a trip around the world
Because though he says all he really wants is to see you happy with your own family, you want to give him more
Because she deserves it

And when that moment comes, you savour it

That look of pride and gratitude on a parents face when you do good is worth every sleepless night
Worth all that extra work

Above all, you see that they see that you were worth it too.