Write, write …
My second post and what if I have the syndrome of the white page? Or what I write doesn’t make a lot of sense?
It must be the first sign of doubt, to know whether I will be capable to write something worth reading or a simple collection of nonsense coming out of my mind.
Get a grip! the best way to get rid of fears is facing them, and we learn how to write, writing. So here I am in front of the screen remembering a visit to a craft market in Accra, capital of Ghana, where you could also see the little houses or huts where the artisans lived and a school.
While the older students where in class, there was a dear little character who was wandering the market with a very serious face, but very sweet. She had big flip flops on, every time I visited the market she would hold my hand and walk with me, she knew I always had some candy or cookies for her. I was totally in love. I wonder today what has become of her and what she must be looking like after all the years when this photo was taken.
I used to take bags full of cookies and candy for the kiddies in the school, I’d give them to the teacher for her to distribute them amongst the students. One day, there was no class, I think it was bank holiday, all of a sudden I saw myself and my friends all surrounded by little human creatures of all sizes, some of the older ones tried to make the little ones behave, I told them to let them be, it wasn’t fair to reprimand them, they only wanted goodies from the bags.
That day I remember it with special fondness, out of all the times I went to that market, this one really touched me.
In another occasion I order some timbale’s covers made with nice and colourful African fabrics, they made them for me straight away, this artisan was so efficient. They are very resistant and you can carry the big timbales as a ruck sack. I bought the covers for a friend who was a musician, I thought it was a better idea than bringing the typical two meter giraffe home, to decorate any of our minimalist apartments and don’t know where to put it after a month.
I’ve always loved the Ghanaians, they are wonderful people, very kind and always wear a constant smile. I always felt so safe in this city that one afternoon I went to have a look at this beach located behind the pool in the hotel where I was staying, I could hear some music and wanted to know where it was coming from. They were having a big party with stage music and lots of dancing. I told my fellow traveler, let’s go and dance with them! We met a very nice Ghanaian girl and we ended up dancing and having fun with the locals. I have to say that we were the only white girls in the African Beach Party, we didn’t care the slightest, under the sun, we’re all the same.
When we travel we must treasure moments, not only photographic memories of impressive places, we become a bit ethnographers and learn from other people, they pass us on magical moments and fun, like the people from Ghana did with me. These memories are a few years old, maybe it is time I go back and see that little girl who I bet now is an African princess, don’t you think dear nomads?
That is why today I want to share a book that made a big impact in my life when I read it, it is called The Prophet by Khalil Gibran. In every page the master tells a tale, sometimes a metaphor with a meaning for the one listening or reading. I once read the one about the matrimony in this friend’s wedding, I thought it was ideal. Here it is today, foretelling the visit to this wonderful country very soon, and to many other places in this wonderful planet.
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