I Triggered Light-Off. LOL.

Everyone who viewed my snap story yesterday has already heard this one, but I’m blogging it for the sake of it.

So I’m in Johannesburg, and lodging with my aunt and cousins. Their community hadn’t seen light off (power outage, or whatever it’s called in Brofo) in two years, so there was, of course, no need for a generator. Hence, they did not have one.

And then I showed up. With my typical Ghanaian bad luck, in the middle of the winter. During the day, the temperature is manageable. In the night, however, your luckiest is single digit positive degrees. If you’re not lucky, look at the temperatures with the minus sign attached. So we were just chilling, one one’s typical lazy Saturday, and I was outside…and then just like that – no electricity. There wasn’t any telltale sound or anything. I just noticed it because of the wi-fi sign suddenly disappearing from the top of my phone’s screen.

Let me tell you now: when you have no heat, in the winter, at night, nor light, you will sleep like a statue under many, many blankets. Not because you are sleeping deeply, but because once you move a limb, you might touch a spot of your bed that has NOT been previously warmed by your body…and that’s not very fun.

So from this, I learned that dumsor doesn’t happen to Ghanaians. Ghanaians happen to dumsor. It follows us. There is no escape. **evil laugh**.



I’d Catch A Grenade For You

The Juvenile Community

My name is Abdul, and I’m here today to tell you that the media is a dangerous thing. This is not going to be another one of those “don’t smoke just because silly paintings (and yes, once more than half of a person’s body is covered in tattoos, he/she becomes a painting) like Wiz Khalifa are doing it in their music videos” lectures. I’m so over that. What we actually need to worry about are the heartfelt love-songs.

There’s something I neglected to mention in my introduction: I’m dead. As you can predict from that last sentence, I am about to tell you how I died – actually, how a song killed me.

The year I died, I was seventeen, you know, and it was all thanks to my girlfriend Laetitia. She was from the Eastern region, and she was the most romance-obsessed chick I’d ever met in my life…

View original post 658 more words

Reality Shows’ Reality

A little Ghanaian girl gets home from school and rushes through her homework so she can watch TV. While her classmates are hooked on Tom and Jerry, or Phineas and Ferb, or some other cartoon which the world has clearly, repeatedly and accurately labelled as ‘fiction’, the aforementioned girl takes the DSTv remote and switches to E!.

After all, why should the random escapades of creatures who don’t really exist interest her, when there are actual people whose actual lives are filmed for the public to see? This is reality. That’s why they are called ‘reality shows’, isn’t it?

“Welcome to your favourite show, **fill in the blank** with your host **fill in the blank** where we tell you which celebrities are binge-spending their cash on random thousand-of-dollars-worth junk like **fill in the blank**.”

One cannot help but cast one’s mind back to the many times one has foregone a Christmas present from one’s parents, because the options were to keep the family fed or to spend money on an object one would use for a month and get bored of. No binge-spending in this family, for sure.

Next, tune in to “Rich Kids of **fill in the blank**, where ten-year-olds complain, “My Dad got me the iPad **fill in the model** plus the iPod **fill in the model** plus two-thousand dollars for the month…but the iPad had 64GB memory, instead of 128GB…I hate him. He never listens to me.”

Aforementioned little girl continues to stare at her LED TV screen, knowing that she is by no means poor, but this gift is a bit…much. She begins to notice that these kids are unrealistically bratty, and doubts the credibility of these ‘reality’ shows.

Mother comes home, and requests, “Come and wash the dishes, eh?”

Girl replies, “Mummy, Kylie Jenner is a teenager, and even she doesn’t wash dishes.”

Cue two sharp slaps across the face.

She washes the damn dishes.

Next day, repeat the homework-to-TV routine. This time, she wonders, “How are these shows benefiting my life?” She is unable to come up with a logical answer. She tries again, “What reason do I have to care about the affairs of these airhead celebrities who I am never going to meet?” No answer presents itself.

She switches from E! and proceeds to watch Phineas and Ferb, which actually makes her laugh, and before you know it, she’s coming up with crazy ideas of her own.

Years later, this girl is a famous cartoonist, whose show has been running successfully for three seasons. Reminiscing, she says to herself, “Aren’t you glad you didn’t rise to fame through a sex tape?”



A Recreated Friendship

You know why I don’t actually regret the life I live even though I hate it most of the time? Because from each one of my ordeals, I can produce something to write about. Here’s a true story in poetic form.


A Recreated Friendship

I was twelve when he said, “Be mine.”

And I said, “I’ll be your Valentine.”

He said to me, “I love you.”

And I thought it was too good to be true.

Years later, he said, “I’m alone.”

And I said, “I’ll make you feel at home.”

Afterwards, he told me, “I’m broken.”

I promised that I’d help him become more open.

And so our friendship grew

Into something we neither knew

Nor understood, until it set us on fire,

And we fuelled it like the masochistic pyromaniacs we are.

And before I knew it, he’d put me on a pedestal

From which I could never possibly fall;

A statue which stood firmly frozen in time,

An artistic piece of his own design,

Designed to replace me as confidante

And so he danced a foolish dance.

He talked to his own silly version of me,

A silent goddess who could never speak.

And so he became idealistic

While ignoring the truth that was realistic.

Thus, he fell in love with the “me” of his psyche,

Who, unfortunately, I could never be like.

And when he finally deigned to tell me,

I was accused of inadequacy.

I said, “The actual me, or the one you invented?”

He said, “I may have been wrong to have ever pretended.”


#Randomosity: Three random things that happened yesterday

1. I was at Sandton City, right, and I was checking out some clothes at JayJays. Then one of the employees came and asked if I could move aside so he could go into the store room. And he had these short dreadlocks. And when he looked at me, he saw my hair and he was all like, “Oooh, I like your hair!” in his South African accent, and I smiled and said thank you, but in my head I was like, “Haha, of course you would, you’re a rastafarian!” (Background information: I have natural twists.)

2. Just when I thought that since I was travelling within Africa for the first time, I wouldn’t have to go through all the people who obsessed over my skin colour or my accent or whatever and constantly asked where I’m from… For the most part, I was right, but this one guy who worked at Typo just surprised me, my cousin and her friend, when he asked “Oooh, so you’re from Ghana!?” He must have heard us talking about school, because we were talking about my cousin moving to Ghana and going to HGIC. And yeah, he happened to be an African language fanatic and wouldn’t let us chill until we’d taught him how to say ‘good morning’ in Twi and a Western Ugandan language whose name I have forgotten (my cousin’s friend was Ugandan). So. That was a funny episode.

3. As we were leaving Sandton City, we saw this woman who SHOULD HAVE been a fashion disaster, but wasn’t…at least not completely. Her ensemble was CRAZY, though. She wore a t-shirt with a denim jacket over it, and an ankle-length green african-print skirt, AND a pair of red Converse All-Stars. How crazy can you freaking get?! If I tried to dress like that, my mother would probably put me under house arrest and make me watch the Style Network or something. I’m kidding. Except for the house arrest part.



The country is crying/insulting/sleeping right now. But imma reblog this anyway cuz it’s crazy funny.


Ohio. When I was younger I figured Ohio was a place where people were allowed to smoke and get high 24/7. Well.

Sometimes my thoughts get crazy like that. I call it the Ohio state. Like in Ohio state, Candy Crush Saga is just a story where unbelievably hot guys have crushes on me, or Twitter is a place where twits converge and say whatever’s on their mind. Although, if you think about it…

Sometime after 10pm today, in Ohio state I was Jordan Ayew after the match with Germany. Usually, the guy who interviews goes for the captains, but in Ohio state today, they chose the fool who complicated Ghana’s chances of qualifying for the world cup Round-of-16 stage. For simplicity sake, we’ll call the guy with the microphone: Mike.

Mike: So Jordan…what happened out there tonight?

This is the weird part. Now, I don’t know about you, in…

View original post 284 more words

My thoughts on a book which we must never allow the like of to be published again. Ever.

My mother likes telling me that I say every book I read is ‘amazing’. I beg to differ. The reason she hasn’t heard me slander a book is because hardly do I ever finish bad books. Why put myself through torture? But this one…I’m about to SLAY it. Following a habit I picked up from my roommate, Owiredua, I finished the book so I could justifiably judge it.It was so ridiculous I had to continue.


This should be fun.

Title: Evermore.

Author: Alyson Noel.

I don’t hate this book. Nah. Strong feelings towards this book cannot be tolerated. It shouldn’t even be a book. Who allowed it to be a series (which I am not going to read the rest of, by the way)?! This is definitely something that belongs/should have stayed on Wattpad, as a weird amalgamation of fanfiction, because the number of series that have been ripped off is phenomenal. The only difference between this and all them Wattpad stories is that there are no atrocious spelling mistakes, although I must say the author is a bit confused about the tenses of the English language. What was the editor even doing?

Let me tell you now that from here on, there will be many spoilers, and if you plan on reading this book (which I definitely, strongly advise against), leave this page.

First off, this main character chick, Ever, she died and came back. Now who else in literary fiction did that? Oh yeah, Harry Potter, in Deathly Hallows. Okay, so coincidence, right? No. Ever happens to have a scar on her – gasp – forehead! Who else in literary fiction has this? Oh really? Harry James Potter? You don’t say.

The famous lightning scar
The famous lightning scar

Next, the whole teen-seeing-dead-people theme. Done before and done better. Why, I think Meg Cabot rocked that one pretty well with her Mediator series. Moving on…

It's a good series.
It’s a good series.

The new boy in school who’s so drop dead gorgeous that everyone falls for him at once. I can’t even SAY how many tiems this has been done. But forget about that and let’s look at this boy’s name. Damen? Ring a bell? Sound very similar, maybe, to DAMON? As in Salvatore, as in LJ Smith’s “The Vampire Diaries.” Oh, this one di3r, you blast. (Forgive my Ghanaian lingo…actually don’t. It was necessary.) Aside from that, he doesn’t’ look or act human! Gasp! What is it? Could it possibly maybe be a vampire? I don’t know. But he does have the ability to erase one’s memory. Who does that? Oh yes, the vampires from the TV series “The Vampire Diaries,” based on the books. Again, moving on…

My love, Damon Salvatore
My love, Damon Salvatore

Damen, the mysterious creature, has many meals with Ever, in and out of school. And he barely eats. When questioned, he is able to take a bite and swallow it. Yep, that seems original. Oh, hold up a sec! You mean to say Edward Cullen did EXACTLY that? Ah, wonderful. We have entered a poorly disguised, unsuccessful mimic of The Twilight Saga. Haha. I seem to recall Bella doing the whole ‘guess what Edward is’ scene over a meal. Ever did that too. Damen skips school regularly? Edward did that too. Neither boy gave a legit explanation. Damen’s vampire house has no furniture. Edward’s didn’e either. There’s a room in Damen’s house full of paintings of him during an era when he could not POSSIBLY have existed? But Edward also…okay, this is getting tiring. Bella Swan is YAWNING right now. A poor girl got an infection and Damen had to suck it out. Does that sound a little like the end of Twilight to you? And when Ever searched the web to discover the meaning behind some of Damen’s tricks, I couldn’t help but remember that Bella surfed the web to figure out what Edward was. Okay. Moving on…

"I know what you are..."
“I know what you are…”

So Ever was ‘boutta die, and ended up in some limbo place. Kay. Why didn’t she die? Where are all her cuts and bruises? Oh wait, Damen has an answer. “Love heals” or “love saved you” or whatever. Now, class, can anyone tell me why Harry Potter is so resistant or why Voldemort couldn’t kill him? Oh, alright. Because his mother’s love saved him. ALYSON NOEL, ARE YOU FLIPPING PROUD OF YOURSELF?!

And now, the whole idea of Ever constantly being reincarnated, Damen constantly having to find her…don’t that sound a teeny bit like Fallen to you? Or I just be trippin’? And them having to fight the same battles over and over again, doesn’t even make you think of Meg Cabot’s ‘Avalon High’? Ah. Okay.


And allow me to also say that Drina, the bad guy (I mean girl) is basically a poor imitation of The Twilight Saga’s Victoria. And I’d have seen through it even if she DIDN’T have red hair. And please. The whole villain telling his/her story/plot instead of actually killing the hero straight-up, thereby leaving room for escape kind of horse-shank is TIRED. I promise on my honour to write a parody story on this theme. I’m telling you, the whole villain-turned-story teller thing is only funny when Dr. Drakken from Kim Possible does it.


Now, not only am I mad at publishers for letting this book run freely into the world, but I am also disappointed in readers for making it popular. Like yo! Why should these authors be making money off such nonsense, while awesome people like Caroline Lawrence aren’t even verified on Twitter? It maddens me.

Alyson Noel, I hope you never see this. You are probably going to HATE me.

Here, I revert to my Ghanaian accent.

This Ever chick naa, she’s an idiot. Ei! Menhuu bi da! (I’ve not seen some before.) Okay so you can read minds. Then this new guy comes and when he speaks you can’t read anyone’s mind again? And you DON’T go off running? You know that every living person ahs an aura you can see. You see this guy doesn’t have an aura, like he’s already dead, and you STILL don’t go off running? Saa? Yoo. So the dude shows up at your party that you didn’t invite him to, and he’s dressed as your complement. No alarm. K. Then he, a mysterious stranger, and not in a good way, who is obviously not human, kisses you on ever part of your head down to your neck. One never even suspects a rapist or nuthin’? Heh. Then he convinces you to ditch school and go to all manner of places. And you go. W’agyimi oh! (You’re mad, oh!) You see the guy sucking blood out of your friend’s wrist, the guy you claim is your boyfriend! And you don’t call the police or anything. Naa, wei di3, w’abodam kraa. (Nah, as for this one, you are completely insane.)

And the way he never answers questions is annoying. The way she never presses questions is annoying. It is NOT COOL to make someone read a book and only half-understand it until the 200th page (I am not even exaggerating.) It’s not mystery anymore. It’s laziness. It’s ridiculous.

**End of tirade**

-Ivana ❤

UPDATE: By the way, I forgot to add: turns out Damen’s not actually a vampire. He’s just some creature that has ALL the qualities of a vampire but they call themselves “Immortals.” That makes it all better, doesn’t it? *red-faced angry emoji*