Osu, Accra,

It’s different on a sunday

the smells are different,

the sounds are different,

the people are the same.

It’s different on a sunday

less lively,

less of a big city.

but the people are the same.

It’s different on a sunday

the multitude of churches resound with the songs and prayers of the people

African songs, and african prayers

for african people

It’s different on a sunday

Even the smell of open sewers

the incessant honking of free taxis

and the playful yells of “obruni, obruni”

seem to have faded with the people

It’s different on a sunday

A much quieter city

A reminisence to a time

not too long ago

when Osu was indeed a village on the outskirts

And not the city full of people it has become today

It’s different on a sunday

different in so many ways.

yet in so many more it is all the same

the humid heat,

so oppresive to my scandinavian sensibilities

is relentless, unpausing,

but also infinitely beautiful in its overwhelming power

in so may ways it is all the same

wherever i turn, i am met by the intense smiles of the people

the jestful, communicative body-language

reminds me of the richness of the culture

the wooden shacks,

next to the splendid colonial mansions,

and the multitude of signs

directing me to the multitude of internet cafes

remind me of the complexity of yesterday

the complexity of the today

and the complexity of tomorrow

but mostly of the lines:

“If your mind can conceive it

and your heart can believe it,

then you can achieve it”

It’s different on a sunday

yet in so may ways it is all the same

wherever i turn, i am met by the intense smiles of the people