Posts Tagged ‘Africa’

It’s 04:23 and I’m thinking, if I had the chance to save your life before you lost it, I will. I’m thinking about you.

The sharp piercings of pain prickles my senses to the core when you think yourself worthless. My heart practically breaks every moment you feel you were never made for this. You were.

You see, I have problems too. The elephant is failure-prone to the ant… yeah! We’re never safe until we feel we are. But you are; you are safe.

I know this because I believe in you. Wait… you thought no one did? [Sigh!]

Did you come unto this earth by freewill? Why would you choose to exit out how you didn’t come? Don’t do that.

You are valuable, your being, I need you. I need you to read this to inspire me… inspire another. I need you to comment on this and tell me you get it, so I know I’m valuable too, only because you are. That’s your value to me now.

If you’d passed me a note telling me you’d want to kill yourself, end it all, I’ll tear the same page of my book, write same, then pass you a note too. Let’s see how that works out for both of us.

You’ve no idea how valuable a treasure you are.

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Certain photographers are of the view that, photographs like portraits that contain artistic and fine makeup do not necessarily require retouching. Some are also of the view that, retouching enhances the beauty of certain portraits and photographs in general.

There are artists and photographers who are particularly skilled in this expertise; photoshop and retouching. Ghanaian photographer and retoucher Joseph Carlyle Amoateng of Phloshop LLC brings to you a 1-day photography and photoshop workshop this September, captioned “PHOTOGRAPHY AND PHOTOSHOP WORKSHOP: The beginner’s guide to Retouching“.

Here is a look at the press release;

 It doesn’t matter how great a photographer you are, nearly every photograph can benefit from retouching, whether it’s to correct colour problems or make major changes to the subject or background.

Phloshop LLC is organizing a photography and retouching workshop for beginners and professionals. This workshop is a day’s immersion into Photography and Retouching designed specifically for photographers who are interested in learning the basics of lighting and executing beauty photo retouch for both commercial assignments or personal projects. As well as how to take their own photography to the next level with professional retouching techniques.

Photographers and designers will benefit from learning systematic professional routines taught in this workshop. You’ll also be challenged to identify retouching mistakes or faults, tackle makeup problems and dozens of photoshop correction features to help turn average portraits into stunners.

DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS WORKSHOP OR READY TO ENROLL?

  •  Contact +233 268780780 (whatsapp only)
  •  +233 207385899 (voice calls only)
  •  Email: Phloshop.llc@gmail.com
  •  Connect with Phloshop on Instagram @phloshop

NB: Date to be communicated soon.

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  • Connect With Phloshop Instagram HERE!

  • Connect with Phloshop on Facebook HERE!

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They call me ‘Night Rider’ because I work at night and I’m not afraid of anything! Sister, if I tell you the things I’ve seen and battled whiles driving at night, you will marvel. But I am not afraid of anything… Odeshi! Uhuh… that’s me, Night Rider.

Growing up, I watched African movies that involved drivers stumbling upon atrocious encounters with armed robbers and ghosts. Talk of superstition, it’s more alive than it was before. Whoever told you superstition is fading as a result of Western cultures, deceived you. I’d rather say it looks refined now.

Night Rider refused to tell me his actual name, but his nickname is cool enough, isn’t it?

As his name, he’s had quite unspeakable encounters, but he shared a few with me in the Twi language, of which I translated to English.

My friends praise me for my courageous acts, that’s how the name Night Rider got stuck on their tongues. It is no bragging matter, it is just who I am. I picked up one doctor from Kasoa to Teshie Tsui-Bleo one night. On our way, he started talking gibberish, so I asked him if he was okay, but he only told me to keep driving. About 10min later, he started speaking Ga, I stayed at La for over 15-years so I understand Ga quite well; he kept repeating these lines, “God, please forgive me, I can never give my mother to them… I can never give my mother to them… God please forgive me, I can never give my mother to them… I can never give my mother to them. She’d sacrificed too much, I can never give my mother to them”

All I could think of was ‘this man had gone in for Sakawa (blood money)’. I asked him again if he’s alright, and he told me he was going to tell his wife everything that night, but then could ‘never give his mother to them’. When I asked who he was referring to, he said, ‘I deserve to die, not my mother. But I am her only son, O! What have I done?! It was just once, they told me it was just once. O! What have I done?!’ So I asked him to confide in me since I was just a driver whom he’ll hardly see anyway. Just when he started to talk, he begun to cough. Sister, he coughed so hard we couldn’t calm it down. Hmph!  I parked to get some water from the nearest store, but anytime he drank some, he’d throw up with traces of blood. That was when I stopped to rush him home.

Long story short, his friend introduced him to a ‘Lodge’ when life hit him hard. He needed the money so he said, and had to ‘pay the price’ but this. This peculiar price demanded him to sacrifice his mother to reverse his impotence; same thing they took away from him on the first day. He left some documents with me and requested that I visited his house the day after to deliver them to his wife so they believe his story. The next day, I went there as agreed, and guess what, he was gone… dead!

Hmm…

A few days ago, at about 2am, I picked up a young woman who’s dressed like a prostitute, around Cantonments. She was a prostitute, actually. How did I know? She was on a call and I happen to eavesdrop. She talked about how smelly her client was and how she’d wasted her time pleasuring a pot-bellied man with a teeny-weeny thingy who passed out into sleep right after he’d ejaculated. She complained of how he’d drool and snore, and how she hated to deal with such uncertainties every weekend, but the money was good.

You cannot judge a book by its cover, they say, but you can by its prologue, obviously. Whatever the case, you’d have to look further than what you see, that is when you actually see.

For a man who saves lives everyday yet dying by the day, who would have thought he was killing aside saving? For the woman who’s selling her body, you’d never know her story till you ask. She wouldn’t be complaining if she loved her job, or would she?

We are all one,  so it makes no sense to point fingers and judge. Encourage someone when you can, and help if you can. My dear, what’s your name?

Akwele.

Ei! A true Ga woman. I like your hair. Natural lady eh? Nice. I’ll give you my number; call me anytime you need a taxi at night. Night Rider, don’t forget the name.

Who would?

 

 

 

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Grey eyes are uncommon among Ghanaians, so it’s fair to admire and celebrate one with it, especially when he’s got gifted hands and a remarkable self. Meet Greg, the younger brother of my friend, Gerard.

Social media has made it easier for an individual to feel special on their birthday; different write ups even by ghost friends on our walls, friends changing their Whatsapp DPs to our pictures, uploading photos on Instagram, Banks and Telecommunications Networks wishing us Happy Birthday via SMS… the physical celebration can get boring at times, but thanks to social media, we don’t complain, or do we?

Greg is nice, simply nice. The first time we met, we easily bonded. He understood the puns and sarcasm, he teasingly laughed at the grammatical errors and petty ignorance, we had fun, we always do, just like with his Gerard. I guess blood is thicker after all.

I admire the bond they share as brothers, Gerard and Greg. They’re like an unstoppable force when together, and I feel like the intruder in their midst… well, more often than not. On the average, a brother’s love deteriorates in time, because they each grow to become their own ‘man’, but with these two…

Apparently, well, perhaps unintentionally, Gerard edits most of Greg’s photos in Black & White. If that’s to draw less attention from Greg’s grey eyes, uhmm… I don’t know. Oops… I pray he doesn’t face me on this one. But coming to think of it, that could be it.. hah! Gotcha, Gerard! Hah! Gotcha.

I could write a poem, but that would be cliché. I could sing for him the Happy Birthday song, but one talented female friend would’ve stayed awake to rocked his world at exactly 12am.

JULY BORNS ROCK! They rock even harder when born on July 14, counting down 14 days to my birthday.

Hah! Cool, right?

Happy Birthday, Grey Greg.

Hey, take a look at some photos of Greg, taken by Gerard

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I didn’t have enough cash on me anyway, so when he asked for 1-Ghana-Cedi, I’d wanted to find a more appropriate way of dealing with the issue, my money had to go to the right place for a good cause. He didn’t look like a beggar. He didn’t look needy.

He was in a neatly ironed blue shirt, and his black trousers weren’t oversized, they fitted perfectly with his handmade Kumasi slippers. His toenails looked clean and new. And his hair, he’d probably used some curl activator pomade because his those curls looked really dark and defined, with sharp edges.

“I just need GHC1 to buy some food, please, I’m hungry, I don’t do this but I really need to eat”.

“O! GHC1 can’t buy you food that will satisfy. If it’s food you need, I can get you some fruits instead”.

I was still on the pedestrian road walking towards the Nii Boi Station at Lapaz. I had an appointment and was running late. Right when we were approaching a fruit stand, I asked him which fruits he’d like.

“No! No! I don’t buy fruits from here”

Well, darn! A beggar with a choice. Alright!

Still walking ahead, I stop at a fried yam and potatoes seller and signal him.  He shook his head in disagreement and said, “I don’t like their food”

Ahh!!!

I noticed a man behind the yam seller trying to get my attention. He shook his head and pointed at the beggar walking away. Just then, I got the impression he knew the beggar.

I had to do this nicely.

“So, you do not have family to call for help? None at all?”

“They’ve all travelled outside the country”

“All? Ok, that’s fine. What of friends? You don’t have friends you can contact for help? Or have they travelled with your family?”

“Oh c’mon, I can’t ask friends for money, or food. What will they make of me?”

“Wow. Ok. So you can’t contact family or friends. Now, make me understand your situation and I’ll might even give you more than a cedi”

“Oh I can’t tell you”

“But…” [he interrupts]

“Look, are you going to give me the money or not?”

“Oh wow. Ok. No.”

Immediately, he walked away and I continued my journey.

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O! There’s no need for a photo, I have friends on Facebook and that Insta-something-something… eh heh!

All other passengers had alighted at their destinations and I was left with the driver, Yakubu, who decided not to pick up anymore passengers for the rest of the day. When I asked why he didn’t want to make more money, he said,

”sweetheart, I drove a couple all night throughout Osu, and see, I am a Muslim, I am fasting”. (more…)

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The proliferation of fashion designers, stylists, makeup artists, models and photographers has been on a rather quick rise and thriving in the fashion and style industry. Nothing seems to be overrated neither is anything underrated; your style is your own.
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The morning after the floods and fire was filled with stories of lost possessions, death, and survival. Indeed, Accra still bleeds from a wound of this terrible blow from nature. Here is a story to share by one of Ghana’s photographers, Gerard, of an encounter he had with a local who’d fallen victim of the flood.

I went back along the same routes I attempted to get home by to see the aftermath of the floods. As expected, I met people around recounting their experiences from the night before. Along most bridges where cars were stalled, I saw cars in the drain.

I met a man, Ransom, who had retrieved the front of his Toyota Highlander from the next avenue from where his Highlander had docked after being swept into the drain from the previous avenue from where we stood.

According to him, he stepped out to get Dog food. Close to the bridge he stopped and gave a few people a ride across the bridge on the 9th Avenue. One of the men he gave lift to pointed out where potholes were and they avoided them and got to the other side. He dropped them off at their homes, bought the dog food and headed back in what he estimates was about 15 minutes later. There were a few people who stopped to ask him to help them across the bridge. He declined, thinking it was late and that they ought to stay put.

On reaching the bridge, he realized his steering had become soft and he no longer had complete control of his car. The water level had risen significantly. He stopped and started his car again but felt his tires didn’t have traction on the road. A man standing atop an uncompleted building called to him to remain in his vehicle till the water level went down.

A small taxi approached the bridge; he rolled his glasses down and attempted to use his phone light to warn the approaching taxi which didn’t let up its approach so he pushed his car door open thinking he was going to land knee-deep in water. He slumped into the water to find the water midway up his torso.

The taxi evidently noticed him and reversed. He climbed back into his car and realized that he had to abandon his car. So he took his electronic gadgets and money, tied them in a polythene and made his way out of the car. The water current got the best of him; he flung his gadgets and money and doesn’t think they made landfall.

Ransom says he grew up near a water body and is a good swimmer. He had on boots which stifled his efforts. He went under on two occasions to take his boots off. The current was too strong for him however and he found himself clinging to the side of a drain outlet.

The man on top of the uncompleted building drew nearer with a towel and threw one end to him in an attempt to pull him out. The effort was futile and he realized if they kept at it, his Samaritan may end up submerged. He elevated himself and found footing on a plat form near the wall and followed it to the next avenue. He said then that the water was neck high and he found a wall to perch on. The wall stands close to five feet high.

A Mr Paul who had parked on a landing close to the wall Mr. Ransom sat on 8th Avenue had just thrown a roap he had in the bucket of his pickup to save a driver of a Benz bus just before the water current swept the bus away to the 7th Avenue. According to Ransom, the bus seemed to have stalled a lot of the current thus, as soon as the bus was lifted into the drain the water current increased in speed. Soon after, his Highlander came to dock by the side of the bridge.

There was a taxi also in the drain near the Greda Estate Washing Bay on 3rd Avenue. According to bystanders, the taxi attempted to speed across the bridge and was parried and swept. A passenger in the car clung to some palm fronds and was rescued by bystanders. The boys from the washing bay rescued the driver when the car docked by cement structure beneath the bridge.

Not too far from there on 6th avenue a capsized Kia was found in the drain. It is said the occupants got out in time. At the bridge near A life was a deep purple Santa Fe said to have been swept from some other place. I was told the bodies had been removed just before I got there.

Take a look.

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It’s a sad morning in Ghana. I cannot express how heavy my heart bleeds at the moment. More than 100s reportedly dead from last night’s heavy rains. I thought I had a rough night until I listened to the radio, saw photographs on FB and watched National Television News. (more…)

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So here’s the story; I raided some models’ shoot.  .. oops.

On Sunday, after church, I got an aunt to style my hair the traditional way since I’ll have a busy week and less time for my hair. Threading, that’s what it’s called.

I paid a visit to Sela, who’s a friend and a photographer (I’d postponed our meet up long enough). Apparently, they were wrapping up a shoot, waiting for the last model to show up. The makeup artist, Kirky, asked if I’d wanted some makeup… why not??! So I told her just how I wanted it, and she slayed!

I am a Ga woman. My tribe is known for their fierceness, aggressiveness, high-spirit and ‘Ganess’ (that’s if there’s any word as such). One thing I admire about my tribe is, we enjoy patronising our culture. My hairstyle is called ‘Akwele Waobii’ translated as Akwele’s Fingers. So technically, this hairstyle is meant for me.

It’s always fun, engaging in an unplanned shoot. I’ll share the professional photographs with you when I get hold of them, but for now, take a look at these selfies.

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