#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.


Local Classic

Author’s note: This is fiction. The narrator is a figment of my imagination, not me.

Local Classic

Fashion, these days, is more like a lifestyle than a statement. And although I am seventeen, almost legally an adult, there are females, both older and younger than me who wear so many uncomfortable things, for the sake do looking good. Sometimes, it would be worth it, I agreed because they’d look stunning even when they couldn’t, breathe, and the tightness in their midsections do help minimise their food intake, which is a great thing for people who were getting fat anyway.

So I enjoy my walks on the street. I get to observe people in their very own self-inflicted discomfort, which is amusing, just like the big joke called life.

What I see: the girls wearing bodycons so tight that they have to suck their stomachs in as dad as to look concave; the girls with the skirts so tight that they have to pull their shirt down one side then the other, after every step; those people wearing strapless clothes that have to be pulled up every minute. But my favourite thing to observe is the women in high heels.

A woman walks robotically, trying to make sure that after every step, she won’t fall. Paranoia affects her balance, and then she wobbles. She pauses, then looks around furtively, making sure nobody noticed. Then she passes by, trying to look more self-assured, like it never happened, and also because she still feels sexy. It’s a good feeling. All around me, on certain days are the mechanical footsteps and the never-ending chorus of kro-chia-kro-chia, as the stiletto heels touch the cement pavement. But I…I choose a different path.

I’m in my Levi denims, with a black Calvin Klein shirt on top. My earrings are gold-plated and dangly, as are the numerous bracelets I wear on my wrists, which jingle each time I move them. When I have my braids, they’re in an elegant updo. When I’m rocking my weave, it cascades like a waterfall on my shoulders. My style is classic.

But when I’m roaming the streets of Accra, no outfit of mine is ever complete without my one signature: my favourite, turquoise pair or chalewote. I am not just designer classic. I am the local classic.

Chalewote :D
Chalewote 😀


P.S. Ghana has no giraffes, in case any foreign people are reading this blog. And to whoever manages Delta Airlines’ twitter account: w’ayɛ adeɛ paa. Bɔ wo’nsam.