Somebody’s daughter drowned in her own tears
and washed ashore at exactly where the fishmongers
gather to gossip about every young girl in the village
who dreams of a life better than toothless men can give.
Somebody’s daughter chopped off her arm to lose some
weight so she can fit in a dress smaller than her brain.
Somebody’s daughter gave out her heart to a lover
who’s disappeared forever with somebody’s daughter.
This is my favourite Ghanaian T shirt brand and I was delighted to see they have a stand in Silver Bird, Accra Mall.
One of my favourite designs is the one Daniel Arthur is wearing in this photograph: "Chale Why?"
I must say I also love Kayobi's "Make fufu not war" T shirts.
If we move from T shirts to wax prints, then some new faves on
the block are Christie Brown, Renee and coming soon, Maksi.
Love is a fart in the sheets
That chokes your chuckles
Love is a well-timed cry
That halts your orgasm.
Love is a snore and a ceiling
And well worn lingerie.
Love is a squeaky old door
That leads to a bed or an office.
Love is a tired, dimmed wedding ring
Strangled daily by a fattening finger.
Love is a badly sang song
That sounds better than Sonatra.
Love is dentures and spectacles
That smile at tiny little feet.
Love is discouraged, fallen breasts
That guard a grey and faithful heart.
Love is many Harmattans.
Love is Rain. Love reigns.
You come here expecting to see an orphanage but what you see is a home. A big home. Full of happy, healthy children. They have the biggest play ground my son has ever seen and he made so many new friends, I had to wrestle him into the car back to our little, quiet home. God bless the hearts and hands that take care of this precious home.
There comes that day when Life deals us that dreaded hand. All of a sudden, we can’t just turn as we rush out the door and say “I love you” or “I’m sorry” or “See you soon”. Now when we reach out to embrace Love, we only grasp cold air.
One morning in Caxito, Angola, I saw a woman wail for her dead. A few metres away from her, I saw another wearing a white t shirt with the inscription “Adeus” popping out of her hunched back. Love is gone for these. It is too late for many things. All of a sudden, everything has fallen into proper perspective; and little things are little again.
In yesterday's scorching sun, a hawker was busy selling rain boots. Five metres away from him, another one was selling neck ties. And then this taxi driver who couldn't even get his engine to run, tried to cut into my lane. I looked at him and said in Twi but with a funny Ga accent "Hey, wo pe se wo sei wo kaa no wo hu?" (Hey, do you want to destroy your car?) The mock anger and grin on my face pissed him off so much he said, "Fa wo nkwasea sem no soo ho" (Take your nonsense somewhere else). At this point my wife and I broke out laughing... and just when we thought we had enough of the humour, this guy selling canned milo walks over to our car and screams " Yeees, MIRO". The sun was stupidly hot but it couldn't stop the laughter. This is why I love Africa. Sometimes, nothing makes sense but that's the beauty of it all.
So this photograph, which I made somewhere in Angola, Caxito is dedicated to every African and every lover of Africa, no matter where in the world you are from or are now.
I had to post these colourful pictures. I know I've been quite bloody on this blog but there is more to life than death, blood and fire. There is also laughter and joy, peace and love, warmth and affection, sweet and ticklish, friendship and humour. Have fun enjoying these photographs and do have a great week. 
I grew up among the Gas, the natives of Accra. I had to fight my way to respect in school but my reputation as a survivor came faster because of the precision with which I could hurl a stone at a moving target.
I remember puncturing a kid’s head with the tip of an old, heavy, pressing iron and watching the blood escape from his skull and shoot into the air like a liberated fountain. “Who’s next?” I shouted but no other kid came forward. I had fought my poor opponent in school a while back but forgot all about it. On that bloody Saturday morning, I had been sent to take the pressing iron to the repairer, who lived in this boy’s neighbourhood. In no time, about twenty boys had surrounded me. That is how we grew up in old Accra. You fight. If I remember correctly, that was the last time I had to fight. The story spread fast, sounding bloodier with each retelling.
The Slaughter Boys is a story of survival. A decade ago, the then government of Ghana demolished the colonial Abattoir in favour of a more modern one in the centre of the capital. What it couldn’t do, was win the fight against the Slaughter Boys. Everyday, several hundreds of sheep and goats are slaughtered in the bare sands of the beach, where the building used to be, and readied for every market in Accra. After each bloody morning, the boys rest a bit and head for the gyms to train as boxers whilst the older ones act as coaches, promoters, and fans.
I grew up at the time when Azumah Nelson was king. He called himself “The Professor of boxing”. I can still remember the day he came to my neighbourhood, which was the very one he grew up in, driving his Nissan Blue Bird with a black and white number plate that read- ZOOM ZOOM. We swarmed him like malnourished doves at the sight of crumbs. Only this time, instead of crumbs, he was throwing Jerry Rawlings’ “gye nyame” ten cedi notes at us. That day, Azumah Nelson became our dream. All we could talk and think about as kids was boxing. We too wanted to be champions. Mine waned but not everybody else’s.
The Attorh Kwashie Gym, where most of the slaughter boys train as boxers currently has fourteen professional boxers and thirty amateurs. They have to share boxing gloves, gums and towels. They have no sponsors and no support but they persist. The motto, “No Pain, No Gain”, is not just an inscription on the walls. It is the only language they speak. They know that one good boxing match can give them far more than they can ever earn at the slaughter house in a lifetime.
"originally written for ZAM Magazine, Africa"
I will tell you a Ghanaian joke. This man is driving out of his house in the morning to go to work. His security guard runs over to his car, knocks on the glass panting. Boss rolls down and grinning security man tells him. "Boss, I dreamt that 11-20-45 will be the winning numbers this weekend. Sure banker." Boss was so mad and couldn't help yelling: " Ei! Watchman! Instead of guarding my house. You sleep and dream lotto numbers eh?! You are fired!". Problem is, Boss went ahead to stake the numbers and true to his watchman's dream, he won the lottery. Does he take his watchman back?
No, it's not my baby but one of the ones I photographed for my malaria story in Caxito, Luanda. See you soon.
Zarla Show Boy is one of the many comedians who tickle people at the Labadi Beach in Accra.
If you can ignore the filth, the Labadi Beach is one of the nicest places to hang out in Ghana.
I had a conversation recently with a potential client who wanted to see my portfolio. I showed them a number of photographs and they said "You don't use a lot of light in your photographs. I want to see your work with light". That made me pause a bit.. breathe in and reply politely. They obviously didn't know what they were talking about.
Like most photographers, I have invested heavily in light. At least I have a dozen heads. Big. Small. I use them but I think a lot of the time, photographers make light get in the way. Photography simply means "writing with light" but what most people don't get is you need to always answer the question " What am I going to write about with these lights?". If they stop to answer the question, they will notice most of the time, they are supposed to be writing about something else and not their lighting skills. A good handwriting is a good skill but as most of you know, in an exam you are supposed to answer questions not show off how well you write.
If the only way to say what you want to say is with heavy lighting, please don't cut corners. Use all the lights and modifiers you need... but when you are so concerned about light that you forget what your client really needs from you, then you've actually got it reversed. 99.9% of the time, your lights are supposed to help you tell a story. They are not the story. Somehow, I had to give my 2 pesewas worth on lighting today.
MUA: Renee Q. Boateng. Model: Claudia. Cheers.
One of my favorite photographs is one of a boy swimming butt naked in Benya Lagoon, Elmina. That photograph, just like this one speaks to me. it is about time we stopped using being responsible adults as an excuse for missing out on life. It's okay to stop walking and start hopping along sometimes. 
Ok let's start with Bertil. He works for Africa Interactive and had celebrate his birthday in Accra because of Maker Faire. Bertil handles and is in contact with over 700 journalists and reporters across Africa. You can check their main website at www.africanews.com.
Have you heard of the famous Blackboard Blogger of Africa? His name is Alfred Sirleaf. I asked him today if he is in anyway related to the Liberian present and he said yes. Who would have thought writing on a black board could make one a superstar?
Finally, let's meet the Malawian young man who invented his own windmill from scratch in some remote village in Malawi with just 60 inhabitants. He made his first windmill at the age of 14, to power a radio set. William Kamkwamba was a drop out at the time of his invention. He's currently studying in South Africa
I was documenting the lives of three women (mother, daughter, granddaughter) around Korle Bu, Accra when this old man came by. He started flirting with this old but younger woman and I really enjoyed watching them at it. We got into conversation and he tells me he used to be a drummer in quite a number of big bands back in the 60s.
I have a special love in my hearts for old creatives. Especially the ones in Ghana. Most of them live and die as paupers. I remember the story my dad told me about the last days of Bob Cole, the famous lead character in "I told you so". Scary story. I personally saw a bit of Araba Stamp's last days. Sad case too.
I remember a poetry bash at British Council, Accra and George Williams, Ghana's veteran actor recited a poem about a canister that was crushed and discarded after its sweet contents had been gulped down by an ingrate.
Honestly, I think that is what Africa does to its creatives. The few who survive are the ones who are smart enough to fight the system.
These photographs are from a visual trilogy I did for Philips. The people of Tekyikrom have no electricity so Philips donated solar lamps to some of the households.
One of the things I learnt in my copywriting days is how much just a few words can actually say.
The sign in this picture reads Elizabeth and Andy fell in love, probably married and also became business partners. As is common in love and business, they hit the rocks but couldn't recover so they went their separate ways... and one of them opened a new chapter, leaving Liz-Andy behind them.
This is what I read. What do you read?
After seeing too many of these scenes on my way back to Accra from Cape Coast, I couldn't help wondering where the man is? I'm definitely not setting this up for the anti-male feminists among you to rant and rave. I need well-thought-through answers. What makes it so comfortable for the Ghanaian Male to think it is ok to abandon his family or alternatively stay at home but just be an irresponsible liability? 
Ride over my winter with your smile
Nudge out my darkness with your touch
You are my Sunshine my only Sunshine
Just when I thought Love only came in trickles...
You came with such a splash...and also became a trickle
The word lorries is one you don't hear often nowadays but it's impossible to document Ghana's social history and totally ignore them.
Stuart Gold and his team of 60 are busy recycling Accra's plastic waste in a very creative way- Trashy Bags.
I'm currently documenting the lives of three generations of women- grandmother, mother and daughter. Whilst spending time with mother, I learnt her youngest son, David has a hole in his heart. As a result, he is not growing properly. They cannot afford surgery. His grandmother works for the Korle Bu Teaching Hospital but there has been no help. I hear the scan he needs must be done at Komfo Anokye Hospital. Everyday David lives is just a miracle. If anybody knows of some organization I can write to for help, I'd be most grateful. Such an intelligent life must not be allowed to fade out soon.
I have been to many fashion shows in Ghana. I will say this was the best fashion show I have ever seen in this country. It was just mind blowing. Keep up the good work guys. Don't stop.
I normally would ignore a scene like this but recently, I notice quite a number of Ghanaians and other africans living abroad frequent my blog.
I made this photograph for you because I know how much you miss home. We miss you too :) And if by any chance this photograph takes you down memory lane, it's ok to share your story with us. Just make sure it is funny :)
Well, Mr. President, even though I cannot get to officially photograph you, I figured I could dedicate an image to you. It is the least I can do. WELCOME TO GHANA 
And before I forget, I want to give you some tidbits on Ghana:
1.) If at table, our president says “You are invited”, He doesn’t necessarily mean it. He’s just being polite. It is common in Ghana to have a friend frown at you for eating their food, even though they gladly invited you.
2.) If you hear someone scream “Ballack Obama”, don’t ignore them. It’s you they are calling. Some Ghanaians consider “L” and “R” to be siblings so they use them interchangeably. I can see a typical Ashanti diplomat looking at you and the first lady and saying “Ballack and Micherre, you are wercome”.
3. I know you are left-handed Mr. President but in Ghana, you never wave with your left hand. Traditionally, we consider the hand you use to clean your $%@*! after using the toilet to be unwholesome for anything else. I remember this petty trader yelling “Master, why your left?!” at me in Cape Coast. I quickly remembered I am in Ghana. The worst thing you can ever do in Ghana, is to eat fufu with your left hand. Everybody will stop eating to look at you. If you don’t trust me, try it.
4. When the chef brings your dinner and you think the sauce or soup is stinky, IT REALLY IS. Koobi or Ewurafua or Momomone is salted fish that is partially left to rot and then dried. If your host serves you Koobi, then they consider you really special. Mr. President, if you are courageous enough to try Koobi, then don’t even bother brushing your teeth or washing your hands. Koobi’s powers cannot be tamed by toothpastes or soap. You must give yourself two to three days to get your fresh breath back.
5. Mr. President, I know you are interested in our oil. That’s ok. If in a meeting you keep hearing the word “WOYIR” , "WOYEL" or “OYER”, they are talking about the same thing - Oil.
6. Finally, if our president in a chat tells you “Our ECOMINI”, he means ECONOMY. He mixes them up sometimes.
Thank you Mr. President and do have a wonderful stay in Ghana.
I was born in Ghana, raised in Ghana and I currently live in Ghana. I'm used to seeing people kissing in public but not in Ghana. Recently at the beach, I saw this couple giving it a go. I was surprised. What surprised me even more was the fact that I was surprised. I also noticed nobody really paid attention to them. Are Ghanaians now used to kissing in public? Am I stuck back in time? Funny how they chose to stand by a canoe that says "noko ye dzen" which means" There are strange things in this world". I can hear my grandmother saying that if she ever saw this couple kissing in public. 
Girls are the only reason why I never went to a single-sex school. Now that's too much information
Our taps are dry in this Rainy Season,
But there is no time to complain.
Carry your gallons and go seeking
Lest you spend your night with stinky siblings
And go to bed on an empty stomach.
Today at Circle in Accra, I photographed a 59 year old hawking-tailor. His name is Amuzu but he's popularly known as Agogo. In spite of the physical and financial challenges he deals with everyday, he wears a happy face.
My head is a drum.
The harder they beat,
The stronger I sound.
My skin is a hide.
No stick can crack
My sun-baked back.
My voice is loud.
Nothing can drown
The future I call.
My feet are wood.
Rooted in Truth
Stronger than your lies.
©2009 Nana Kofi Acquah
(this poem and self-portrait are dedicated to everywoman who daily turns the hurdles placed in their way into opportunities)
I spent a short time with this roasted corn seller and I was amazed at how many customers she has. I also kept remembering the many Ghanaian stories around corn and all the various nicknames it has. It will be great to hear what story you have about the famous mouth organ. No, the story doesn't have to Ghanaian.
It has been a long time coming but it is finally (almost) here :) Remember, Love is what we do and not just what we say :) I love you both
"No thank you, I'd prefer a cup of tea".
I can't count the number of times I get offered a cup of coffee. I guess my name Kofi has something to do with it. I have nothing against coffee. Trust me. I actually like the smell of coffee but I get very nauseous and uncomfortable when I take even a sip. So by default, I love tea.
This photograph is part of a series of advertising photographs I'm making for my portfolio. I chose Lipton because we have a past. I used to be a creative person on the account some years back.
For those interested in making a similar photograph, this was made with a Canon 5d and the EF 100 Macro. The photograph was lit with two speeedlites both off camera and triggered with an ST-E2. Of course the product was set up in a cocoon.
Raise your heads for peace, democracy and good governance, no matter how hard they nail you down. Nothing great comes on a silver platter.
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