Telling me how I should feel when you do not know my pain...

The Issue of sickle cell disease has been one on my mind for many years. One of the reasons is mainly because I suffer from SCD myself. I have had many people say to me, Oh, you do not look like a sickle cell patient..; I believe that's just due to God's infinite grace (as well as my inherent good looks, of course).

So I am not going to go into the description, definition and analysis of what the condition is, there are many journals out there that have done a much better job than I could ever achieve.

What I can do though is bust a few myths:

Myth #1 - Sickle cell patients do not survive past the age of 25. Okay, this is a difficult one. I know of people who died quite young as a result of complications due to the condition when they went into crisis. My mother used to take me to the Sickle Cell Clinic in Korle Bu General Teaching Hospital for my routine check-ups (anybody know Mr Lamptey, the then Clinic administrator?). There, I met a young girl my age whose mother was my mum's school mate. We used to meet at these clinics and there were often shy 'hellos' followed by long, meaningful silences. When we got to Secondary Form 3, Nadine died suddenly from complications from having her menstrual cycle. That was what I was led to believe anyway. Following that, in 1980, a couple of school mates died from complications as well as a cousin.

My father, however, lived to be 82. I am now… maturing, so the age thing is not really true. There are various forms of the disease and those with SS strain are more likely to succumb at an earlier age than those with SC. But the “dead at 25 is (was) a generalisation that many have wrongly made.

Myth #2 – All sickle cell patients need regular blood transfusions. Not all, some do, but when in crisis, what I need most are fluids. My treatment really is saline fluids by intravenous transfusion. Some strong pain killers too, but sadly, I have had to justify  this to my local A&E on many occasions. Since Whipps Cross Hospital seemed to have dome away with the crisis pathway for Sickle cell patients, there seems to have been nothing but continual arguments with medical professionals. Some “experts” have even suggested that I try alternative treatments like the use of stability balls to relieve the discomfort.

One thing I do is drink a lot of water, as much as I can manage (depending on the availability of toilet facilities).

Myth #3 – The regular use of strong pain killers will turn sickle cell patients into addicts. I have regular prescriptions for strong pain killers like Tramadol, diydrocodeine and diamorphine. Most days, I function quite well without these strong meds, but sometimes it is hard to ignore the pain. Managing the skill and developing the ability to perform adequately as an adult under the influence of strong medications has been something close to an art, that I have had to develop over the years. Sometimes, my reaction to the side effects of the medications can mean an early phone call to work to say I wouldn’t come in. Not many employers or managers have been accommodating. I have never been so insulted by medical professionals as when they have tried to suggest that I take less of painkilling medication and deal with the consequences. Or take up, pilates…..

Myth #4 – Sickle cell patients cannot take up physical exercise: I took part in active sports till September 2005 at least twice a month. Sadly, in September 2005, I went to play football with the guys after work and ended up in hospital for 12 days with pneumonia like symptoms and a blood clot on my left lung. That put an end to my budding footballing career, and Arsenal lost out on a world class striker that year. (I am talking about Henry, after 2005, he moved to Barcelona.) These days I do a lot of walking and moderate tasks for cardio vascular stimulation. Of course, as I have got older, I enjoy watching people on TV getting the cardio exercise that I need, and I am currently developing a process of mind transference so that I can equally benefit from athletes performances, just by me sitting on my couch.

Myth #4 – There is always a trigger to crisis: Not always, sometimes you just get unwell. It may have been due to an infinitesimal sequence of events or seemingly innocuous actions that you may not have taken seriously, quick trot for the bus (that gives me chest pain, so I no longer run for the bus); getting caught in a cold shower: enjoying too much sea air on a summer’s day (10 days in Whipps Cross after church trip to the coast); but I seem to have developed some internal sensors that warn me of when a crisis is looming so I need to slow down.

So those are some of the myths I aim to dissipate with stories of my experiences.

So what would I like for the future? I don’t know really, maybe access to a disabled car park once in a while so that I can drive to work on bad pain days; that I do not have to pay fully for all my medications every time I need them since I use them quite regularly;  managers who will be flexible enough to support staff members with a condition that has unpredictable onset.

I would also like people to just not assume that all I have said here relates to all sickle cell sufferers. Please speak to the individual you know about their experiences; they may not be the same as mine. We may have shared experiences, but not necessarily have everything in common. What we seem to share in common are the negative attitudes we face from some managers, work colleagues and medical professionals.

There! My public health campaign for the year completed.

It's been awhile

So I used to write the Blog under the title Ramblings of a Wandering Prodigal. well, it now turns out the one I was a prodigal to is no more. it has allowed a lot of introspection and I am more aware of my own mortality as hair has grown thinner, less teeth with more gaps, pace has slowed to a more sedate prowl (observers might think of it more as as kind of half-limp and amble as the hip has been giving me gyp lately).

The two things that remain are the fact that I love Jazz but love Jesus more, and secondly, if you find any grammatical errors, please point them out to me first, before Mummy sees them....

So I have decided to make this a bit more of an album review style as I tackle one of my passions, Jazz/fusion et al. Lately, I have had a renewed revival and the need to share with those who share my passion, and where possible attract a new audience to some of the new kids on the blocks. And some older kids to, who just haven't gotten off the block yet...

And out of all that DJ Shabash has emerged. This blog will be to review at least 3 albums that have caught my fancy but will be a chance to point you towards my live broadcasts on Saturday, Tuesday and Friday evenings. The publication will still be interspersed with random thoughts I have collected as I have walked this earth. Feel free to comment and at the bottom, I will add the links to my broadcasts, an upcoming podcast where I will be talking to friends and their love of music.

Touchdown by Bob James - 1978

This is one of the seminal and ground-breaking pieces of work by keyboardist Bob James, For those who have LPs, you will remember that this opened up, deceptively like a double album. That was the trade mark of the Tappan Zee label at the time,

The Personnel

First of all, this album had a lot of household names supporting him, and whilst at the time they were session players, they mostly all ended up with successful solo careers.Gary Kng, Eric Gale, Ron Carter, Steve Gadd, Hiram Bullock, Mongo Santamaria, Ralph MacDonald, Jon Faddi,; Randy Brecker, David Sanborn, Hubert Laws and  Idris Muhammad - a real musical who's who of the fusion age of the 70s and 80s.

The Tunes

Angela (Theme From "Taxi")
Touchdown
I Want To Thank You (Very Much)
Sun Runner

Caribbean Nights

There were only 5 tracks, by today's standards, one might feel they had been short-changed but the enduring quality of this album 40 years on is a testament not just to the music production but to the fans who have not allowed this to slip away into the abyss. Angela as the theme tune to the 80s Comedy starts with the Hubert Laws flute that hooks you straight away. but my favourite on this album is Sun Runner, and as an impressionable teenager, I remember listening to this and never wanting the tune to end. Having said that, every tun on here is a good piece of memorable music that will stay with you long after you have finished listening.

Maybe I am being presumptuous here but if you have never heard of Bob James before, then I would recommend this as your first taste into the musical ingenuity of the man. Since then he has released over 20 solo albums and had collaborations with Earl Klugh, Kirk Whalum, David Sanborn among others, and is also a founding member of the quartet, Fourplay.

5/5

Gunners fever

Sadly, I am an Arsenal fan. I say sadly because I have had to endure some really difficult days watching the team I love flounder under the weight of the reputation of the team with no backbone. Literally. The team crumbles with the ease of the Berlin wall in the face of the onslaught of freedom. Or in modern political parlance, with the ease of a changing Brexit deadline. I have already heard cries of Emery out - but that is the cry of feckless fans who have not asked themselves who would replace him. It is this kind of short-sightedness that many football management boards have possessed, leading to hiring and firing of managers as one would do to inept secretarial temps. However, this is a mores serious game and people should ask themselves, who would they want if Unai were to leave. I personally would love Freddie Ljunberg to take the reins for now as he is already part of the management team, but would like to see somebody like Vieira come in to breathe some fire and passion into players who are paid more than enough to run small African countries - and who collectively, deliver just as much. I am almost driven to cry out, much to my horror, "Wenger, come back, all is forgiven." Not really. Not yet.

Father to Son - Eric & Josh Willis - 2018

This is  a fantastic piece of work by keyboardist Eric Willis and his percussionist son,  Josh. I am currently researching this and next month I will have more to share with you but in the meantime I would recommend that you listen on any of the streaming services, you will not be disappointed.

Its strange that in this day and age, there can be so little information on the internet  regarding something so good. 

The Tunes

It's Alright
Softly Spoken
Father to Son
Stop on Tchoupitoulas (Chop-It-Two-Lus)
Freddie the Freeloader
My Lovely
We're Strolling
Walking in the Sunshine
Time (She Keeps Moving)
Epistemology (E-Pis-Stem-Ology)
In Succession
Santa Fe Moon
Enchanted Island
Those Who Love

My four favourite tunes on there at the moment are  Softly Spoken;  a cover of Miles Davis' Freddie the Freeloader, We're Strolling and Epistemology (E-Pis-Stem-Ology)

If anybody out there knows more about this father and son duo, please email me at my details below.

3/5 - until proper review

Trending stupidly

Social media brings out the worst in people. Okay, for some of us, once in a while, in that moment of boredom, or flash of inspiration, will capture a moment in our lives that we feel compelled to share with others. Sometimes, it might be a selfie, or a picture that you think caught the right mood.

However, there have been times when others have been compelled to be idiotic enough to go the extra mile, like eating full meals on the train to prove a meaningless point.There is currently a video of a young man who sets up a table to woo and date some very unwilling - and embarrassed women. At first I found the concept quite novel and funny but by third date the fad had grown old and tired.

The other thing I have found rather amusing is when "influencers" try to use their perceived fame and fortune(less) to gain favour and freebies at establishments like hotels and restaurants. Whilst I admire their bold-faced shame (my  opinion), I applaud the establishments that are fighting back and not be bullied by self-proclaimed influncers (of what) to take advantage of what we the working and paying public would rightly do, that is, pay for a service.

My final album review is from Wilton Felder, formerly of the Crusaders

Secrets - Wilton Felder - 1985

By the mid-90s, the original Crusaders had disbanded with Joe Sample in particular, Wyne Henderson and Wilton Felder pursuing successful solo careers.

Wilton collaborated with Bobby Womack, with whom he had worked  before on his solo  Inherit the Wind album to come up with Secrets.

Players

Dean Parks, Joe Sample, Nathan East, Ndugu Chancler, Abe Laboriel, David T Walker, Wilton Felder, Bobby Womack on vocals

There was commercial success with No Matter How Hard I Try with Bobby Womack's unique, raspy vocals, but i also love the Truth Song on which he featured as well.

There is a lot of good bass playing, which is not surprising bearing in mind there was East, Laboriel and Parks. However, Felder is allowed to lead and showcase what he is good at on all the tracks  Eve Joe Sample's trademark keyboards seem subdued and you would be pushed to hear him on his solo work. This album certainly belongs to Felder.

I obtained this album in 1991, and the soulful  I Found You has soothed my nerves many a time.

I think back in the day, I had this on cassette tape, and that poor tape played itself to ribbons.

The Tunes

Secrets

No Matter How I Get

La Luz

The Truth Song

I Found  You

Mr Scoots

4/5

So long until November ending.

I broadcast every Friday from 10:00 pm GMT and on Saturday and Tuesdays at 10: 00 pm.If you would like to join me, click on the following: DJ Shabash Jazz Broadcast

You can also sample a copy of my 90-or-so minute mixes here: Your selected mix

If a password is required, use DJShabash.

You can leave comments or email me at shaft144@djshabash.com.

Just before Christmas - and other random thoughts

For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before Mummy sees it

Life is what you make of it

A kind of weariness had possessed me lately. It is not that I was tired of life or contemplating the futility of it all, nothing like that…yet. However, as my own mortality was made clear to me with the passing of dear ones, I have felt like a passenger on a train nearing his destination, with a few more stops to go.

It is not as morbid as it sounds. I have acquired a new sharper enthusiasm for things that I used to take for granted and my frustration grows when I perceive that others around me do not “get” me or seem to be oblivious that they are on a similar journey and should take life (or themselves) less seriously, instead of turning every event into drama.

This newer love of life has mostly been realized in the aftermath of my father’s death 7 months ago. Now I have (almost) got over the philosophical barrier of accepting the inevitability of death, I am now engaged in indulging myself (and others) in the time left on this earth. My weariness stems from the fact that I do not know how.

It is like sitting in front of a table of goodies of every type of food I have ever favoured but unable to decide which to start on, knowing very well eating too much of one thing would deprive me of another. (This is actually a daily decision for me, the food, that is, because not only am I middle aged, I am also now amply middle spread).

I have indulged more in my hobby of Jazz, now involved in the history and learning many delightful secrets in the cross-over to funk and soul. I am learning not to take myself too seriously, particularly as in the aftermath of my father’s passing, many school mates of mine, mostly younger, have suddenly passed into eternity, making a mockery of all the birthday wishes they had only recently received, granting them long life and posterity. Similarly, my jazz idols are quickly increasing the throngs of musicians who have gone underground, and recently listening to music by Jeff Golub, Chuck Loeb, Ronny Jordan, Joe Sample, Al Jarreau, Wilton Felder, to name a few, reminded me that these musicians all played in my lifetime while I was living and breathing, but they are no longer playing.

Or putting down my ideas about how I feel about life and not feel self-conscious about it.

The point of these musings? One must enjoy life to the fullest, give the Creator His due praise for this opportunity to enjoy life, make the best of what one has, smile more at strangers, turn work into a positive challenge (I am glad for what I have achieved today) instead of a daily treadmill with nothing to look forward to, other than your bed. Which one may not get out of tomorrow.

Bullying Tactics

I recently read a comment on one of the various boards that take up all my tablet’s memory on WhatsApp. It was by this guy who refused to join in the camaraderie of old students reminiscing about school because he had been a victim of serial bullying. As a result, he had hated it so much. What I could not understand was why he wanted to be part of a group which was testament to the most miserable time of his life. It might have been therapeutic for him, but the cynic in me kept whispering that he wanted the rest of us to feel guilty as he regarded us as complicit in his predicament.

The truth is, bullying at the time was not just systemic, it was institutionalised. Apparently, it was meant to develop character. I am sure it actually broke lots of spirits but we stoically took on the unspoken mantra that it would make us stronger, better individuals. (Listening to Wayman Tisdale, another one who was taken too early). As a junior (first three years in boarding school), I cannot remember or count the number of times I was asked to kneel down with both my arms raised, usually on gravel, for some perceived wrong. The stupid thing is that both the Punisher and the Tortured were aware that the punishments would not rectify or right any wrongs. One of the quotations bandied about at the time was, “In the jungle, might is right”, straightaway reducing our humanity to the very basest of animalistic existence. If you watch wildlife programs like I do, then you would realise there were two classes, the predators and the survivors.

In today’s climate of retribution and recompense, one could very well justify suing the Education system that encouraged the perceived abuse of vulnerable young boys. But who would you point a finger at? I remember coming home and telling my father stories of the horrors I had witnessed and been put through, sometimes embellishing my accounts to full effect in order to extract as much pity as I could from him. Sometimes, in an effort to elicit the last bit of sympathy, I used other people’s accounts of what had happened to them. The truth is that you may not even have survived that particular ordeal. He in turn told me stories of his school days which left me traumatized and scared to sleep at night, making my account sound like some 1^st July beach party!

So it does seem strange that we are slapping each other on the back, self-congratulatory and perhaps that is why others cannot understand the “Band of Brothers” mentality. It does speak volumes though that I would not tolerate that kind of behavior or abuse to be imposed on my children. Maybe, the person I was referring to before could start up yet another social media platform for survivors of Boarding Schools. Who knows? He might get the audience he is looking for. I might even join myself, just note that I could be giving accounts of others than myself…

Christmas Issues

At the end of the year, as the manager, I face the dilemma which I hope others face too. What do I get my staff? Will just a card do? Is there an obligation to reward staff for the hard work we have been through these last 12 months? The ordeals we have faced together? Do you reward the hard-working ones, and ignore the slackers or the trouble makers (if you have any)?

What is appropriate? What is not? Somewhere I used to work, I wrote in one card, “Well done for all your hard work”. In another’s card, I wrote, “Thank you so much for all you have done”. I thought I was going for variety. So imagine my surprise when the lady who received the latter card accosted me in the corridor and asked me, “Do I not work hard enough?”. Surprised and perplexed, I responded in the affirmative. “Why then did you write ‘thank you for all you have done?’ People are going to think we slept together or something!!!”

So I changed the wording in the card. I had given everybody a card voucher, each of the same value, but now I was paranoid, would somebody misinterpret what I had given to mean something else? Would the clothing shop voucher people think I wanted them to get lingerie? Would the book voucher recipients think that I had issues with their apparent lack of reading skills? Thankfully, nobody came back to me.

This year, I am going to play it safe and give Amazon vouchers. But what if they do not have an Amazon Account? If they were forced to set up an Amazon account, could I be later accused of encouraging them to spend outside their means? Would their spouses or partners perceive this gift to be a threat in case they didn’t get them any presents? Could that cause a rift in their relationships? What if their relationship troubles caused them stress so that they had to stay off work? Would I need to employ temps? Would my staffing budget stretch to sick leave and temps? If they used the Amazon voucher for a toy that was recalled but they did not get the notice and the toy hurt their offspring or pet, could I be sued? Would I be liable or my employer? Could my employer sack me for being generous?

Ow, my head hurts, I am now tired of life and contemplating the futility of it all……..

My musical recommended offering this festive season is Walter Beasley’s Free Your Mind. Enjoy!

Have a merry Christmas and a happy new year.

For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me ... Job 3:25

For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before Mummy sees it.

It has just rained in the early hours of this Bank Holiday morning. I hear the rain outside, like the sky shedding tears relentlessly, after some bad news had broken. It's still dark, though the occasional idiot races down my road, as if escaping some unseen evil. You would think that with the wet roads, some might know better.

The thunder that awoke me has receded into the distance. I am not sure which particular drum-roll made me jump out of my bed, but after a long, cold drink (of water), I have gathered my thoughts sufficiently to be able to put fingers to keyboard, and let the thoughts that have confused me over the last few week escape, in an effort to make sense of what is the inevitable destination of the road called life.

My father was larger than life. He was infectious. He was a good story teller and as he grew older, he would tell stories of his youth that used to amuse and shock his listeners in equal measure. At the time that I became aware of his existence in my life, he was the party man. He had numerous friends who would come round to party to music on his gramophone.

In 1969, when we moved to Ghana, i lived with him in Larteh, an existence that was far removed from the one in Kilburn that I was used to and most accustomed with. At the time that we lived in Larteh, there was only electricity for up to 6 hours a day, in the evening, from the generator up the road. I do remember when the street lights were first introduced. That was a year or two after other people were landing on the moon.

I remembered when he would get dressed up early in the morning to commute to Accra to his city job. He would arrive back late at night, and I would remember eagerly waiting for his return each evening.

I remember one wet afternoon, he came back with his friend, Mr Clottey, and said, "Kwabena, Get your things - we are leaving". I did not even think to ask where! In my excitement and youthful exuberance, I thought anywhere else was better than here. I am sure there are many theological analogies that can be made here, but that is a comparison for those who are well-equipped to do so, not me.

That was the next turning point in my life when I came to know him as a loving father, yet a strict disciplinarian. It was the first time that I had lived with both my parents and siblings together after 3 years. Our relationship developed a new dynamic. He would take me to his workplace and I would see how he related to his work colleagues, all who respected him. We would meet with friends from his school days.

He was an Odadee from Odumase Krobo (1955 year group) and boy, was he proud of it. Even till later years, he was still contributing to the success of the school, by appearing at launches and opening ceremonies. It is no surprise that all 4 sons attended his alma mater.

My love for jazz stemmed from his record collection at the time. He had Ray Charles, Fats Domino, Jimmy Smith, Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, the Adderley Brothers, Grant Green, the Ink Spots, James Moody, Sammy Kaye, Sammy Davis Jr, Dean Martin and many others. I then got properly introduced to soul through 3 seminal records, Al Green's "Let's Stay Together", Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" and the Temptation's "Masterpiece". We also had Jim Reeves, but it seemed like every household had Jim Reeves at the time. There was also a complete recording of Handel's Messiah by the London Philharmonic Orchestra and choir.

The next big turning point which dictated the direction in which my family life changed was in 1976. I returned from my first term in secondary school to find that my father, a staunch Presbyterian had discovered something new called "the Baptists". The rest, as they say, is history. There was no more smoking, drinking and fast, hard living. Contrary to expectation, the respect among many of his peers grew. There were a few who shunned him because of his change in the lifestyle, and mocked him for "finding Jesus". I suppose, my mother would be able to tell you more about that than I can. I, and my brothers, discovered a new man, a changed person, he was kinder, more focused - and yet that twinkle of mirth in his eye never left him.

As a natural leader, he stood head and shoulders above his peers, naturally commanding a presence, and air of authority that others had to learn to assume. Perhaps I am being presumptuous here, but some of that mantle was on the shoulders of my siblings and I without us knowing what it was or having an understanding of its significance. Now, we know.

When he started a project, he would doggedly see it through to the end and then say rather philosophically, "Let's see what the Lord will do". One of the projects he most prided himself on was the translation of Baptist hymns from English into Twi. When I last visited Ghana, he proudly showed me the handiwork that he and Mummy had lovingly worked on.

My Dad was known for his catchphrases.

"On the line" meant that whatever stage of undress you were in, you had better get your sorry self into that car otherwise he would leave you behind. My brother Paul and I tested that one time too many. We have lived to tell the tale.

"Power" was time for devotion and prayer, either in the morning, or evening or sometimes both. Together as a family, we must have read the Bible at least 3 or 4 times through. As a time of fellowship and learning, it also had its lighter moments as everybody took turns butchering Biblical names. We knew the Benjamites, Ammonites, Peruzites, Sadducces, Pharisees, and read about Jephthah, Jezebel and most importantly, Jesus. No visitor who ever stayed late in our home, left without partaking of what became a very important standard in our house. In recent years, when we travelled and went back for holidays, it was the one thing that had not changed and I found myself enthusiastically getting involved. Of course, since there was no rush to get to work, or no tiredness after returning from work, proceedings had now evolved into reading the Bible , reminiscing about old times and general sitting on the veranda and watching the world go by.

"You damned Tetepooteh". None of us ever knew what a Tetepooteh was, so we never ever had reason to be annoyed or offended by the intended insult.

He was also a man of many names. He was Daddy to all; Paa Kwaku to most - particularly, the Larteh fraternity; Pastor or Osofo to church members; Ras Nasibu to his siblings and close family; Kpalogo because of his dancing skills from his previous lifestyle. Recently, we asked him about the origins of the name Ras Nasibu. He told us when he was born, my grandfather nicknamed him Ras Nasibu after an Ethiopian general who had routed the Italians in battle in the 1930s. He said that his son was going to grow up to be a leader one day. Based on that principle of faith, speaking good things into the life of our children does not seem to be a bad idea, I suppose.

In the early hours of Sunday morning, 6th May 2017, I received the phone call that I had been dreading, particularly as I had been seeing all the obituaries of parents of my fellow school mates on our WhatsApp page. One knew that the day would come and it would be inevitable but it was not expected this soon as the family had already bought tickets to prepare for a visit for his 82nd birthday. My brother, Josiah, sent me the verse from Job 3:25 soon after the phone call.

As somebody who writes so much on social media, it has taken me 3 weeks to finally admit that my hero, my Pastor, my father has died. I trust that one day, we will meet again. 1 Thessalonians 4:13 says, I should not mourn as one without hope. I do not read that as I should not sorrow at all, just that I should weep but with the hope that one day we shall meet again.

There's so much more to say, but I guess if I said it all now, there would not be anything to write about next time.

Letting it go - (or bullying Part 2)

For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before Mummy sees it.

12 Months is a long time 

In that time, a lot has happened.

I have seen my beloved Crusaders all move on to the great Jazz Club in the sky. Stix Hooper is still around, a drummer without a band. Oh, and they took BB King with them...

I watched Leicester, against all expectations, win the title, confounding critics and sceptics alike, in the year that was supposedly Arsenal's year, (just like every other year);

I have seen Donald Trump win the The Apprentice, confounding all logic, and assuring me that America is still the land of opportunities, especially if your Daddy gives you a million-dollar start-up loan;

I have felt some personal family tragedies where young members of my family have suddenly been taken away in the prime of life - it does make one think carefully about one's mortality;

There were peaceful elections in Ghana, but that has made me realise that social media is a tool that can frustrate decent minds, because suddenly fools of all shades, with dubious religious credentials, can now all take to the airwaves - and ether - and use this medium to demonstrate their lack of knowledge and decency for all to see. There was a time when the village idiot was just that -  the village idiot. Now he (or she even) has progressed to become the Global Village Idiot.

12 Months (or more) is indeed a long time...

Faith without works is dead 

As a practising Christian, I have been pushed to the limit to doubt my own sanity and faith when I observe some of the issues around me particularly with respect to some of the so-called ministers of religion. The Christian Religion is big business today (do not mistake this for the Christian lifestyle which can sometimes be diametrically opposite to what some of what our churches teach today).

In my opinion, here are two main extremes with varying degrees of differences in between. I like to call them the Peterites, after the style of Peter, the Rock of Christ, uneducated, straight to the point, speaks from the heart, unpolished, preaching a message of bombastic destruction and no holds barred language (shitstem) (for us reggae fans, Peter Tosh, if you like).

Then there are the Paulites, more urbane, world stars, more likely to mix with intellectuals and royalty, wordy, pithy, educated (or at least knowledgeable), urbane, witty (For us Reggae fans again, Bob Marley), no less condemning than the Peterites above but presenting the message with love, sometimes too much love, if there is such a thing.

In listening to the two groups of preachers and the array of different sorts that fall within the range between, I have been careful to declare always that I am in no position to judge who is right. What I assuredly declare is who is definitely wrong!!! So, the man who decides that it is okay to beat teenagers or trample a pregnant woman, or distribute his own bodily fluids and secretions to church members (or followers) as a blessing or makes declarations of obtaining funding by emotional blackmail, or prophesies after the event and then changes their prophecies midway when things are not going their way, or take advantage of gullible women seeking a solution to their problems.

I have seen videos of so-called pastors caught in flagrante delicto with parishioners' spouses in the name of delivering special prayers, there are those who declare that their female church members attend church fully covered without showing any evidence of the fact that they are women or at the other end of the spectrum, attend services next to naked so that they can feel the power of the spirit better. Suddenly, worshipping in spirit and in truth is no longer a thing. True religion which is meant to be loving one another and caring for the widows and the fatherless is neither fashionable nor trendy.

The only thing I can say is that if here is any change, let it begin in me. If there is any of my practices that may put others off my worship or my beliefs in who I believe is the God of creation and His Son Jesus Christ (I suppose that very statement alone may put people off, I can't help that), I pray that I get it right and that my witness will be one of basic but extraordinary human decency in a world gone crazy over religion.

Taking on New Things

As somebody who has been in the NHS for a long time, I have found myself recently working in Mental Health. It is interesting how an environment can fundamentally change your thinking, your language. I have stopped saying to people, "You’re mad" when they do or say something surprising or unexpected. “I must be losing my marbles" when I forget something. It’s not about political correctness. I think I have become more sensitive to the plight of others and how quickly one can descend from what one might consider "good" mental health to having issues where you require the skills of a professional to help steer you back to your previous self. Wouldn't it be great if all the above-mentioned church organisations invested a bit of their membership funds into helping those with mental health issues?

A Different kind of Bully 

A couple of weeks ago, I posted something about bullies in the workplace.

I would like to talk about what seems to be a more acceptable, but just as sinister form of bullying. Spreading gossip in the name of "family". Years ago, a young man made a momentous decision without establishing a proper foundation, as he should have; like most young people, he followed his heart and left his head behind. The decision in later years, caused heartbreak and pain. The people who matter most – his immediate family, rallied round him and helped support him till he eventually got back on his feet to lead what is now a comparatively peaceful and more productive life.

You knew there was going to be a but somewhere. James, in the Bible talks about the tongue. In James Chapter 3: verses 7 and 8 –

“7 For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of things in the sea, is tamed, and hath been tamed of mankind*: 

8 But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison."

But some people just seem unable to let go. And the best way they have dealt with the situation is by the perpetuation of untruths, by spreading unsubstantiated, second-hand tales, a collection of half-baked fables, based on destructive whispers, with wisps of truth, and echoes of facts well past their expiry dates. “Did you know?” “Have you heard?... “Using one’s position as the older sibling in a family to destroy less senior members is never justified under any circumstances.

When the young man approached me for advice (based on what he had heard about me), I advised him to concentrate on taking his new life forward, on making the best of his newfound direction with the support of those who love him. He should let the rumour mongerers stew in their own morass of fables and half-truths.

The sad thing is these are the people who claim most to be the children of God I am supposed to relate to (both by the Spirit, and by blood). If this is what I am supposed to expect from those who I share a common bond with, why should I expect any better from those who are supposedly strangers to me?

The young man said to me as we parted company, “If I knew their address, I would send them a copy of James to read”. “Don’t worry about it”, I replied, “They already have copies on their bedside tables.” To paraphrase Jesus. Let those who have eyes, let them read……

My Jazz Recommendation

Back in the day, Grover Washington Jr was involved in mentorship of the group, Pieces Of A Dream,. We Are One, for me was one of my favourites of their earlier albums.

New beginnings, a renewed pledge - And swimming upriver...

For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before Mummy sees it. 

A New Commitment

So last weekend, I walked down the aisle with the woman of my dreams. Nothing fantastic there, considering that I have many women who answer to that description and have met the strict(ish) criteria to be part of that hallowed company. Admittedly, most of the women in that group are not aware of their membership of that elite club, and will probably be spared their knowledge of that dubious honour till their last breath. Except for Rachel of S Club 7. And Kelly McGillis. And Dawnn Lewis. And Denise Lewis.

But perhaps this is special, because, a} she knows me too well; and b) she agreed to walk down the road of life with me. I have travelled many roads, started businesses and enterprises, worked in jobs that would task the faint-hearted, been in fool-hardy relationships, both in matters of the heart and hard cash; some rather short-lived, and others, relatively successful and yet the trepidation I felt as I said "I do" this time, made all the afore-mentioned endeavours shrivel up in comparison, like a sheet of toilet roll in flames. (Do not try that at home!)

Why? Because, for me, committing to another person after many previous battles from my various encounters now, in my life, was less of settling down, and more of settling up. To me, settling up is the equivalent of weighing the pros and cons and then saying, "It doesn't really matter how this one turns out, I need to work on it, a day at a time". No long-term visions of "When we grow old together", but rather, every evening, pledging to myself (and God), "Tomorrow, I will love this woman by my side a little more than I did today". Perhaps, I am getting sentimental in my old age. Yes, I love my wife, but I also know that I am not talking about the feelings in my chest cavity that unreasonably argues with (and wins) over my intellect. I am also looking at another person whose goals are aligned with mine, seeing our children grow together to achieve successful careers and wholesome relationships, avoiding some of the pitfalls I encountered along the way. Somebody to talk to about daily events at work; regard her friends with suspicion, but treat her foes with the disdain they deserve; discussion of the off-side goal, which started the 10-2 thumping by Bayern Munich, even though she was gently snoring though my enamoured and animated, yet unbiased account of events. (I don't care what you haters say, we were robbed and that led to the drubbing).

This is not new love, this is a renewed sense of an existing relationship. Perhaps, ever so often, one (or two, even) should undertake a renewal exercise, an MOT if you like, a reassessment of where they are in a journey, to change oil, tyres, rather than toss out the whole vehicle.

Bayern Munchen

Arsene Wenger, its time to go.

Trumped

Is been almost 10 years since Donald Trump became President of the good old US of A. At least, it does feel like it. Whilst the man with the bombastic personality and the drastically hilarious wavy hair was voted into power, I predicted a mass exodus of the sane from America. Wrong again!

Those in vehement opposition have stayed to fight. What I cannot stand, are those Christians who claim that he came to save America from abortion and Hilary. Trump is here to prove a point, and perhaps increase his TV ratings for his next show. I have had all kinds of fanatics call me names because of my stance, which is based on a biblical precedence (you did not think I was leaving that out today, did you?).

 In 1 Samuel, we are told that Israel demanded a king. In spite of the fact that they were warned that a King would tax them and marry off their daughters, Israel refused to back down and they were given King Saul.His exploits, manic-depressive behaviour, hatred for David, irrational reasoning (sounds a bit like me), left Israel in no doubt that the decision they had made was the wrong one, especially when Goliath came into the picture. They quickly latched onto David, the next best thing very quickly, and Saul ended up on his own sword.

Then there was the story of Rehoboam, Solomon's son. He reportedly caused the breakup of the united kingdom of Israel with the following words in response to  request for legal reform, "Whereas my father laid upon you a heavy yoke, so shall I add tenfold thereto. Whereas my father chastised (tortured) you with whips, so shall I chastise you with scorpions. For my littlest finger is thicker than my father's loins; and your backs, which bent like reeds at my father's touch, shall break like straws at my own touch."

My take on events, is for America to take stock, review their decision making and choose a sensible leader next time round. Donald Trump will have his full 4 years but will be ousted by the Republicans. He will try to run as an independent and fail miserably. But I might be wrong again.

So I hear you ask, what is the link between the two biblical kings and Donald Trump? They all sought counsel from idiotic counsellors, and when that failed, they advised themselves by sending out tweets at midnight, every night. Not really. But they would have done, if they had Twitter.

Leadership issues

As a manager, one of the biggest challenges I have faced is dealing fairly with staff members who do not want to play (or work) fairly. It is literally swimming against the current.

The bigger challenge is when - I must work with people I report to who definitely refuse to play fairly. A few years ago, I worked with such a person, who made my life hell to the point that somebody used to regularly comment at our weekly meetings, "I hope you survive the day". I was regularly belittled, made the butt of jokes, humiliated in public and made the buffoon of the team. This continued for over two years and people kept asking me, Why do you stay? I stayed because, in spite of the bully, I was learning so much that helped me set up my own business, but it also made me work on a number of short comings in my character. It has also helped me to recognise the start of those tactics wherever I go and nip them in the bud before they become issues. Of course, it does not help when the bully has allies who continually pass on messages to undermine your performance so cut off those channels off at the knees, particularly if they are subordinates. It would be wrong of me to advocate physical violence (though cutting off somebody at the knees does sound appealing in a very Game of Thrones sort of way).

I have learnt, for example that information should only be shared on a need to know basis. A junior member of staff is just that. Do not tell them anything they do not need to know, because that is how undermining members of staff get irrelevant information passed on to relevant Heads.

I have also decided it is important to speak immediately to your own supervisor/head of service and report your concerns, making it clear you have recorded dates and times of incidents so that you do not look and sound paranoid. This is what works for me. I hope that is what it says in the standard HR handbook with brilliant advice.  Sometimes, it might be that you are a pawn caught in the middle of some power struggle. Or it may just be that you have met a nasty individual who is being bullied at home by their spouse. Just saying.

Resolutions

• It is almost April 2017. I resolve to be kinder to my children and try to have a conversation with each of them at least once a week.

• Speak to my parents at least once a week;

• Cook a special dish for my wife, at least once a month.

JAZZ RECOMMENDATION
Afrodeezia by Marcus Miller

Back to African Lessons

For all of those who know me, I am the son of a teacher from a family of teachers. Please if you notice anything wrong about my grammar or punctuation, let me know before Mummy sees it.

ANGER - AND FORGIVENESS

It has been a while since I posted my blog. There have been a number of reasons for this but I am not sure I can remember any. Last year, on my 50^th birthday, I wrote what turned out to be a 3000 word meandering mass of nothingness which I gave up after 6 weeks.

However, in that time, I went through a couple of life-affirming experiences, mainly when I went back home to Ghana for my sister’s wedding – and renew bonds with my father.

There seems to be an unspoken rule, actually a two-part rule – which says that you can gush unashamedly about your children and their antics but you reserve the more interesting stories about your parents until their obituary or memorial. Well, I am going to break this rule today. It is not my hope to embarrass Daddy unnecessarily in anyway but just use his life to reinforce a point about forgiveness, something very important in light of the anniversary of unsavoury events of the history of my country, Ghana.

I will start by referring to a story in the Bible which I hope is relevant to any of my readers, whatever their belief is. In Luke 17:3-4, Jesus talked about forgiveness. In those verses, He encouraged us to rebuke anybody who trespassed against us and then - and then if they repented, to forgive them. And if they trespassed 7 times that day and they repented, I should be able to forgive them 7 times that day. The disciples’ response was typical – and human. C’mon, Man, what kind of faith am I going to need to be able to do that? Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and the third time – well, that is definitely enemy action. 7 times requires increased faith.

Jesus' response on the other hand (as usual) was not human. You do not need increased faith, He said, you just need faith the size of a mustard seed and you will be able to forgive 7 times a day, and start all over the next. You would be able to uproot a tree – with its roots, entrenched ideas, past wounds, roots of perceived hurts and branches of anguish.

So back to my Dad. Years ago, somebody once said something very incendiary, rather inflammatory, derogatory even in a public meeting, something that any of us would not have been able to bear in private, let alone in public. Anybody who knows my Dad in his past life would have known that he had more responses in his little finger than the accuser had in his whole history. (In defense of the younger man, he was young and therefore lacked wisdom – one preacher said youth is wasted on the young, why was God going to add wisdom? That would just be an insult to old age!).

My father kept his dignity and refused to dignify the unsavoury comment with a response and walked away. So here comes the forgiveness bit. I rather stupidly took the whole matter to heart. For over 20 years, I have walked around with a growing baggage that kind of weighed me down anytime I heard anything about this individual. How dare he? What does he know? In the words from the good old days, when they were they, where was he? Would he have dared talk to his own father this way? This bothered me for so long that it affected other areas of my life. Funny thing about unforgiveness and bitterness is that it is just like rust. It starts off with one pan, and then you see signs of where the rusted pan rests on the shelf, and then the lids, and then other saucepans, and if you do not remove the source, you end up with a whole lot of rusty cookware. Then I started to ask myself, why didn’t Dad fight back? He could have destroyed that young whippersnapper’s confidence with a well-placed remark. So my resentment was now moving in a different direction, unjustifiably towards the one person who had been hurt.

Then, in January, earlier this year, I sat on the front porch with him and had many conversations of times past. We learnt a lot from each other but I also learnt something about the extraordinary individual who was my father – he was at peace with himself with regards to the issues in his life, including that particular incident. It was then that I understood Jesus’ comment, He did not really mean that you had to wait for your brother to actually offend you 7 times, He just meant you had to have enough to forgive them this time round. Until the next time. Not to keep count. That was the small seed you required to uproot a tree, roots, branches and all. And once I understood that, I felt at peace with myself and realised what a youthful idiot I had been till I was 50. This is just one of many tales of a remarkable man who I have learnt to understand more with every passing year. King David has always been my hero, but King Josiah is a hero closer to home - and to my heart.

FRIENDSHIPS

The best friendships during my Ghana trip I experienced was being with all my siblings under one roof. And then I met up with my cousins and my family just seemed to explode in a kaleidoscope of fun and laughter. The brilliant thing is that we are now in touch on social media and there is so much fun in finding what each other is up to almost on a daily basis. And then I met up with cousins from my wife's family. Circle just keeps growing. I hope our children keep this up on a regular basis so that it is not only at special occasions.

GHANAIAN AND/OR NIGERIAN MOVIES

I have been a movie buff for years but I have recently shown an interest in African movies. To enjoy African movies sufficiently enough, I have drawn up a few rules which I hope will enhance your viewing experience.

1.      Suspend belief. Movies are make believe, African films, doubly so.

2.      Retune your hearing. You may hear well-worn phrases used out of context that would make you doubt whether you ever studied English. It may be the use of idiomatic expressions, or very thick complicated accents. Whatever it is, just rewind, listen again and move on.

3.      Enjoy the stunts, do not make fun of them. This is not real-life, it is meant to be entertainment. If it seems like a stunt man was blown over by mystical forces, then so be it. If they fell out of a moving car, but it seems interminably slow, then you are right. It WAS slow. Deal with it.

4.      So all the actresses seem to be squeezed into costumes half their size revealing bits that you would not wish to see on a good day. Or a bad day. Deal with it. Who invented stretch jeans and is this what they were invented for?

5.      Subtitles are just that. They are not made to enhance your understanding or enjoyment. Trying to understand the subtitles for some African movies is like trying to read a spoiler plot before a film. Sometimes. At other times the subtitles of the English dialogue will be shown until the actors launch into a tirade of Yoruba, Akan, Igbo, Ewe soliloquies – for which there are no subtitles. Again, deal with it.

6.      Romantic scenes – can be a bit confusing. Remember back in the day when you would be watching a movie with your parents and then the sex scenes would cause an embarrassing silence and then everyone would look away at everything except the screen? Well, this is worse. And exactly the opposite. You find your eyes drawn to the screen in horror. A bit like teenagers at a school disco with a lot of fumbling under the sheets, you are best advised to fast-forward those scenes. Eugh.

7.      If a movie is advertised in the schedules as part 1, 2 and 3, never naively assume that the movie titles would be the same. Whilst you are used to Rambo 5: Wrath of Satan or Rambo 8: The Burst Prophylactic or Rambo 10: The End….of Bruce Willis, African movies have a different interpretation of the sequel. Each sequel may have a completely different title from the original movie. So you get The Marriage of Lydia, where innocent Lydia marries a royal Prince banished from his kingdom; then the second movie is The Voice of the Angels, when the Royal Prince (the princes are always royal) leaves Lydia to marry a dwarf lady with a sweet voice but who prefers to play the saxophone which is invariably higher than her - and the third movie is Igwe’s Food For Chop, which is when Lydia’s sleepless nights are tormented by the visions of the dwarf lady – who turns out to be Lydia’s mother.

8.      All movies end with To God Be the Glory. Especially when the plot is completely incomprehensible and the movie ends on a cliff hanger with no sequel….

9.      The main cuisine in all African movies is rice and chicken stew. Or jollof and Chicken.

10.    There are some truly fake accents, American usually or British. Think Tom Cruise in Far and Away or Keanu Reeves in Bram Stoker’s Dracula and then mash them up real good.

11.    Finally, suspend disbelief. Which is quite different from No. 1.

Do not let my advice ruin your viewing. Get the popcorn out. Or Jolloff, or chicken or whatever.

JAZZ ALBUM OF THE MONTH

Finally, I have decided to add a recommendation of a CD I’ve enjoyed immensely for Jazz fusion
fans out there: Straight No Chaser by Thelonius Monk.