> Just to make it very clear from the outset, this post does not allude to the fact that I have recently purchased season 3 of the California TV series “Desperate Housewives” from a guy outside Koala Supermarket, but rather it is pointing to difficulties of relationships.

As a newlywed twentysomething expat, I have started to see disturbing trends among my friends in similar life situations here in Accra. Wasn’t this time – after long years in the University library, impossible loves and zero money, but before kids and a daily routines so boring and wellknown we could also do them backwards – wasn’t it supposed to be the time of our lives?

Obviously not. When two minds come to live under the same roof there seems to be more than a little adjustment to be done.

Some replay the same fights over and over again with their spouses (money, you-said-I-said, cleaning and laundry etc.). Some like to spend at least one night a week by themselves while I at times recent my husband for often coming home late from work. Others again can’t seem to unite about how to furnish their home or if to watch Champions’ League or Strictly Come Dancing (or instead make an early night).

Then we have all the cultural shocks: husbands who want their clothes ironed, you to attend funerals of people you have never met, or eat a bowl of fufu for dinner – every day! They are matched with wives who want to pay half the bill, feel odd about having to instruct a housegirl instead of starting a laundry cycle in the machine or spend a average Ghanaian monthly wage on foreign groceries each week!

Additionally, it can be noted that Ghanaian men seem to have little interest in taking out any parental leave (ok, there is no parental leave for men in Ghana, but at least my Swedish side feels that this somehow should be at the very least a priority for timing of the yearly leave). They also seem to be weary about parttaking in the birthing of a child with half their genes.

Some of us young spouses talk vividly about how important it is to work, not predominantly to make money, but to aviod becoming just a housewife – implying that our identities could be gone in no time. However, I don’t think that is the problem. Our personalities, I think, are going nowhere. The problem is rather to be able to hold your tounge the hundredeth time you make a small sacrifice for the person you love knowing he is doing the same.

> The last weeks’ silence on the blog has a good explanation – I went and got married!
Our wedding was held here in Ghana complete with the early morning Ghanaian traditional engagement. We did the official ceremony at the Tema Municpal Assembly and had the reception in a seaside restaurant close by.

The stylish photographic evidence was taken by Mamarazzi.

>Being an outsider in a place often leads to interesting meetings. In buses, marketstalls, outside my house and most lately at fotball games, I have come to engage in discussion with very different people. As of late, I have discovered what I would call a “new category” of people I talk to: Heartbroken African Men.

The men in this group are, often but not always, in their thirties, middle class (not enough money for a car, but often holding a licence) and they all tell me a surprisingly similar story. The man was in love. He was happy. He gave his whole heart and thought his girlfriend loved him back. But one day, she without prior warning left for a richer/more educated/more affluent/older man. The man begged, grieved, and called. But the girlfriend acted like she had never loved the man. Ever since (and this is normally years ago), he does not believe in women and has not loved again.

At first I thought this bitter story was maybe how moneyless Ghanaian boys chatted up a white lady in the bus line in hope of getting sympathy in the form of a bus ticket, but after having heard the same story from so many different guys, including a Ugandan professional, and a man who already had paid for his food in a popular restaurant downtown Accra, I have made a different analysis. This might be a grand narrative of the African man, not all that different from coming of age by killing a lion or something else oldfashioned and villagelike. The modern way of facing the world, stepping up to it, realizing its not all roses (if ever believing so) is getting your heart crushed by a decieving, mean and ever so beautiful woman.

The only consolation really is that it seems to happen to most every African man before he hits 30.

In the picture the bitter cocoa seed and fruits.

>Since I just recently rented a big house with my darling we have now reached the next exciting step in our relationship – buy furniture TOGETHER. Some people would say we are lucky we have no furniture from before to take into consideration. Even if that is true, we still have our preferences from before and I think that is sometimes worse. I mean we can never use the argument “but Darling, if we use my sofa we don’t have to buy a new one…” We have to buy everything, and when you have to pay for something you really want that thing to be a fine thing. So far we have a bed and a fridge. And yeah, this week we finally agreed on a carpet and a sofa.

My style is Scandinavian Simple or now when I live in West Africa – West African Simple. Since most furniture has to be ordered from a carpenter I think we should give it an African touch.

My bf’s style is close to Grandmother’s Sitting Room Style (it’s my blog, therefore I tell it like I see it) with flowery/checkered prints and absolutely NOT any African references.

The African cloth I like to include in my décor, he says is funeral wear and inappropriate for using as curtains or for chairs. A beautiful antique carved drum I found, he calls trash. A glass table at a friend’s house adorned with gold and silver he thought was nice, but I could barely wait until we left our friend before telling him I thought it was absolutely hideous (my grandmom would have liked it, though).

And about the carpet and the sofa, I’m not too sure our compromise (his patterns, my colors) will work, especially not with my wooden masks and the antique drum. But I am tired of sitting on the floor watching films or eating dinner.