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