Theme: FOREVER ROOKIE
18.03.2021
Pacing myself in the Ghana way of life simply has to extend itself to my food intake also.
Eating heavily and spicy late in the evening is not good.
But it’s so good.
Goat and fried plantain is just irresistible.
But I’ve eaten the complete opposite back in Amsterdam.
Low carbs.
Here there is Fufu, Fanti Kenkey, Banku, you name it.
And processed white bread.
Low fat.
Here we have oils.
Peanut.
Groundnut.
Coconut.
Palm nut.
And salted butter.
And I’m nearly not moving enough.
I used to walk and cycle every day.
Now I’m just around the house.
Or in the car.
I understand why rich people have gyms.
They can’t just pop out on the bike and go.
A different kind of lockdown.
Prestige restricts.
Enter body obsession.
Therefore, I have to establish some new food habits before I head over to Takoradi to stay with dad and his wife.
She is the High Priestess of Food.
And an African momma.
Of boys.
She can’t wait to have me over.
I have to be strict with her.
I’m craving my morning Greek yogurt routine.
But dairy is not a thing here.
And trying to keep my European food habits going will cost me an arm and a leg.
Do you take excess body fat?
No? Hard cash you say?
Damn.
It means that trying to save money on food I will gain and it will cost me eventually.
The trouble with European food abroad is that it’s lower quality.
Because abroad can’t tell the difference.
Highly processed.
More so since its journey is longer.
Meaning you sell your arms and legs for inferior quality and taste.
Not good.
Back in Europe we believe that processed food is cheaper.
However, there is a process.
Which needs to be paid for.
Which ultimately makes it expensive for what it is.
Less nutrition.
So you need more to sustain yourself.
Of course.
Supermarkets are pricey here.
Because they cater for expats.
Local markets are cheaper.
Fresh but intimidating.
If I want to be healthy on a budget in Ghana I need to get over myself.
I don’t want to be an expat in my own country.
And local markets are by default almost organic.
And much fresher can a chicken be which was alive less than 10 minutes ago?
I decided to go to the local market.
And make friends.
Haggle.
Joke.
Change perception.
I might just manage to get charged local prices.
For being entertaining.
And a couple of onions added to my bag.
No plastic svp
I shall ask my sister for a list of general market prices for stuff.
So I’m not a complete fool.
And I presume I should leave my gold sequins fanny pack at home.
That would be smart.
Tourist rookie bloody mistake.
I stand out like a sore thumb already so no need to force that shit.
Accra is the capital of Ghana.
This is probably the most intense place to be.
WiFi is the key.
To me staying here.
In order to work and sustain myself.
Within the consumerist structure.
The city hussle.
Apartment to live.
Car to move.
Stuff to buy.
Rents for apartments has to be paid a year upfront.
A YEAR
Wft
Driving in a car with this intense traffic is a constant risk.
You bump someone, you pay.
They bump you … whatevs.
Commuter traffic is nothing I’ve ever seen.
Waste of lifetime.
No matter how organic you live.
You’d die mentally.
The strain on your patience is enormous.
Maybe I was just hungry.
However, I don’t think I could manage.
Or even want to.
So commuting to any type of job is a no go.
I remember I wanted to write.
Which I can do under any circumstances.
Not sure the value I’m creating.
My value I feel is my block chain.
My finger print.
Carbon footprint?
My unique (or maybe not so unique after all) view on things.
And take.
Through a life of highly personal experiences.
Having lived in different scenarios.
Unique to my person.
There is a position for me out there.
And it’s not publishing a book.
I feel.
It is something so unique and imaginative that when it comes I will simply slide into it.
A position which was created for me.
Or I created forward myself.
By being me.
The revealing final piece to a beautiful yet complicated puzzle.
When will it come?
There is a timing to everything.
It would be cool if it was in Ghana.
But it might not be.
It could be anywhere in the world.
But I will have to go there.
I feel like accumulating new experiences hard and fast.
There is a sense of relaxed urgency.
By letting go of chasing.
But then also not.
27 years Germany
22 years UK
4 years Holland
I wonder where I would be if I had moved faster.
Closer to being where I need to be?
Or already there?
Probably not.
I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
At the right time in the right place.
It is still interesting to wonder.
Throughout all the years living in different countries I’ve been in long term relationships.
I only defected when they ended.
It was my trigger to jump.
And it was always the right choice.
They were exciting and inspired jumps.
And I’m always starting over.
Being the rookie.
Surrounding myself with new people.
Surrounding myself with new surroundings.
Mirroring my new environment.
Could be key to eternal youth.
Living like you always just finished High School.
Seeing things new.
Ahead.
Never back.
But with that also comes the recurring question: Where am I going from here?
What am I doing with my life?
Everything is always wide open.
Especially when it comes to some sort of career.
I have never jumped for a job.
Which is probably not a smart thing.
When you’re jumping for a job you’re jumping into safety.
I have never done that.
Hence a ‘sorted’ way of living was never at the other end of my jump.
Twice that other end was a relationship and once (actually twice) it was studies.
Twice, I just realised, because after one breakup I didn’t jump countries but started my BA.
Maybe I’m in a perpetual loop?
Maybe something was planted in my early twenties’ head?
Some sort of mechanism which re-sets?
Forever 21.
I always feel I know nothing.
I always feel that I’m not sure what to do with my life ahead.
I feel I’m never ready.
I feel I’m never there, anywhere.
Whatever that means.
I never feel confident that through my experiences I’ve reached some sort of boss plateau from where to operate from.
I feel it’s never enough.
Never right.
It’s probably not true because I know and can do a lot of stuff.
My head is constantly buzzing.
Never quiet.
Creative.
But I feel there has never been a proper framework for it.
A structure.
Because the minute there is structure, I feel restricted.
Extremely uncomfortable.
I want to bolt.
I can do it, but my
Body?
Mind?
Are writhing under the calm and efficient exterior.
I can’t help it.
Where is that coming from?
I don’t submit.
Maybe I’ve simply not been in a structured yet creative and inspiring environment.
It’s probably just a twisted idea of structure I have been entertaining all these years.
I don’t have a problem with structure per sé.
I create it often enough.
For myself.
Textbook Virgo.
I just can’t get along with someone else’s.
I don’t like to be told what to do and how to do things.
But then who does?
I need freedom of movement.
So I guess the key is to place myself into position where I can creatively inspire.
That’s what I am.
A Creative Director.
Orchestrating is my talent.
Maybe I should orchestrate my own.
Write a job description which fits my skill set perfectly.
How about insecurity riddled writer?
Just kidding.
Not.
