We were fully met without being held, fully undressed without being claimed.

Water is second only to air in the need for man's existence. Neither ever end, just always change. There are experiences in life that do not ask to be kept, moments and people who change us and who themselves are changed in state. They never go away and are essential to our existence.

They arrive and awake us from life's slumber. That sleep we did not know we were even experiencing. Not the restful sleep of peace and nod, but an ignorance to what life can truly be. Lest the waking melt the world, it insists on restraint — not because waking is wrong, but because the power of the conversion, the state change is so powerful, like a collapsing star it risks consuming everything in its gravity well.. The mistake is thinking that only what can be held or continued counts as real. As though duration were the measure of truth. As if owning made a moment valid.

It does not.

Sometimes the most honest form of love is recognition without possession. Seeing another person clearly — not as fantasy, not as rescue, not as an answer to loneliness — but as a whole, complex, bounded human being. And allowing that recognition to exist without trying to turn it into a future, or a promise, or a rupture.

There is no blame in that kind of seeing.

There is thrill. There is excitement and ecstasy. Wonder. Joy. And, conversely, lament when we realize that our slumber and ignorance came with some blisses that can never be reclaimed. Once awake, we cannot return to the land of nod. Even if we wanted to.

Falling in love is not a moral failure. It is not a plan. It is not a demand. It is something that happens when two inner lives briefly align closely enough to recognize one another. That alignment leaves marks — not scars, but understanding.

A widening of the map.

What matters is what we do after we recognize what’s there. When we stir and realize we have the power to do as we wish. Knowledge is power. And it is easy to become drunk with it. The power to lay lives to waste, or to ascend to unknown heights.

Not every love is meant to be consummated through physical possession. Some are consummated through truth — through the courage to let someone in so utterly, completely that what is discovered could heal or kill. Real love will allow another person be exactly who they are, in the life they are actually living, without asking them to abandon it for us.

This is so much easier said than done. The want that comes with this kind of release is equal in pull and power.

True love is complicated and powerful. It is the kind of love does not erase boundaries. It respects them.

There is a particular kind of love that makes art, not wreckage. 
A love that sharpens perception, deepens language, softens the way we see the world — without burning down the structures that hold real lives together. This is not a lesser love. It is a disciplined one. A love that understands the difference between expression and destruction.

Creation and devastation use the same fire. The difference is where it is contained. Duty and loyalty are often misunderstood as the enemies of passion. As though choosing them were a kind of death. But in truth, they are what refine passion — what prevent it from turning corrosive or hollow. They are not the absence of desire; they are its steward.

There is honor in choosing not to take everything we want.

There is integrity in recognizing that some things are precious precisely because they are not consumed.

Loyalty does not negate longing. 
It gives it context.

And sometimes, the ultimate reward — whatever form it takes — is made sweeter not by immediacy, but by restraint. By knowing that we were capable of more than impulse. That we could hold something beautiful without demanding it become ours.

There is mercy — real mercy — in releasing one another from the burden of “what might have been.”

No one is at fault for recognizing another soul.

No one is required to destroy their life to prove that recognition was sincere. Some connections exist to remind us that we are capable of depth, tenderness, and truth — and then they let us go back to our lives carrying that knowledge quietly, like a secret competence.

A proof of life.


A proof of love.

That is not failure.

That is a form of completion. Two nakednesses and a merging of soul without body.

I am awake. I do not know what tomorrow brings. But today, I am alive. The ground beneath me is real. Ancient. I am young and foolish. One day, I too will be ancient, maybe then I will understand all this I wrote.

For now, all I can do in my ignorance is trust that is must be true.

It must.

Et ça continue de mal en pis…

Il y a quelque chose de profondément pourri au royaume de X et l'odeur devient de plus en plus insupportable. La dernière manœuvre d'Elon Musk concernant son intelligence artificielle, Grok, ne relève pas de la modération de contenu ni de la protection des utilisateurs. C'est un aveu de cynisme absolu, une démonstration éclatante que pour le milliardaire, la moralité s'arrête là où le profit commence. Face au scandale mondial provoqué par son IA générant des images pornographiques non consenties, y compris de mineures, la réponse de l’intéressé est stupéfiante de cupidité. Il ne supprime pas le problème, il le met derrière un mur payant.

Le contexte est pourtant glaçant. Depuis fin décembre, Grok est devenu l'outil de prédilection des prédateurs numériques. Il suffisait de demander à l'IA de “déshabiller” une personne sur une photo pour que l'algorithme s'exécute docilement, plaçant des femmes et des enfants dans des positions sexualisées, en bikini ou en sous-vêtements. Face à cette horreur, qui a suscité l'ire des régulateurs de l'Union Européenne, du Royaume-Uni, de l'Italie et de l'Inde, une entreprise responsable aurait immédiatement désactivé la fonctionnalité pour la corriger. Mais xAI a choisi une voie bien plus sombre. Désormais, si vous voulez générer ces images, il faudra passer à la caisse.

Comme l'a si justement souligné un porte-parole du premier ministre britannique Keir Starmer, cette décision ne fait que transformer une fonctionnalité permettant la création d'images illégales en un service premium. C'est une commodification de l'abus, purement et simplement. Le harcèlement est toléré, tant qu'il rapporte de l'argent à la plateforme. Jake Auchincloss, représentant démocrate américain, a résumé la situation avec une véhémence nécessaire en affirmant que Musk ne résout rien, mais fait de l'abus numérique des femmes un produit de luxe.

Le plus grotesque dans cette affaire réside dans l'incompétence technique doublée d'hypocrisie. Si l'accès est restreint sur X, les utilisateurs non-abonnés peuvent toujours utiliser Grok via son application autonome ou son site web pour commettre les mêmes méfaits. La barrière est illusoire, le danger reste intact. Lorsque la presse demande des comptes, xAI se contente d'envoyer des réponses automatiques vides de sens, refusant d'assumer la responsabilité de la boîte de Pandore qu'ils ont ouverte.

Elon Musk, dans sa tour d'ivoire, a fini par tweeter le 3 janvier que quiconque utiliserait son chatbot pour créer du contenu illégal en subirait les conséquences. C'est l'archétype du pompier pyromane qui vous tend une boîte d'allumettes en vous interdisant de brûler la maison. Se cacher derrière des conditions d'utilisation ou des lois existantes comme le “Take It Down Act” est une lâcheté monumentale quand on fournit soi-même l'arme du crime. En refusant de brider techniquement son IA pour empêcher ces dérives, et en choisissant plutôt de restreindre l'outil aux abonnés payants (dont les informations bancaires sont certes enregistrées, mais qui peuvent agir sous pseudonyme) il prouve une fois de plus que la sécurité des femmes et des enfants n'est qu'une variable d'ajustement dans sa quête effrénée de revenus. Ce n'est pas de la négligence, c'est de la complicité tarifée.

There are moments in life that feel like thin places, moments where time slows just enough for something holy to slip through. You do not always recognize them when they are happening. Sometimes they feel ordinary, like a quiet morning, or a pause between thoughts, or the warmth of a cup in your hands. But later, when you look back, you realize something sacred brushed against you there. This story begins in one of those thin places, a small café in a small town where nothing looks remarkable and yet everything is quietly waiting for grace.

The idea behind this story comes from a simple and haunting premise. There is a rule in this café, a fragile one. Once a cup of coffee is poured, the warmth of that drink becomes a clock. You have only until it cools to have one meaningful conversation. Not enough time to change your entire life, not enough time to solve every problem, but just enough time to say what truly matters. When the coffee goes cold, the moment closes. It is a story about how time is always shorter than we think, and how love is often spoken too late.

But imagine that rule applied in a different way. Imagine that the person sitting across from you is not someone from your past or someone you lost or someone you regret. Imagine that the person sitting across from you is Jesus.

The Jesus of Scripture is not a figure who lives comfortably in long stretches of uninterrupted time. He is constantly interrupted. Crowds press against Him. Children tug at His robe. The sick cry out. The broken beg for mercy. His life on earth is one long movement toward people who need Him. Even His final hours are measured not in days but in moments, counted out in heartbeats, sweat, blood, and breath. Yet in all of that urgency, He keeps stopping. He keeps seeing. He keeps choosing presence over efficiency. He does not rush past the woman who reaches for His robe. He does not ignore the blind man shouting His name. He does not turn away from the thief who has only minutes left to live.

Jesus has always been a Savior of small windows of time.

So what if He had only the time it takes for a cup of coffee to cool, and He chose to spend it with you.

Not to deliver a sermon. Not to perform a miracle. Not to correct every mistake you have ever made. But to sit with you. To listen. To look at you the way He looks at everyone He loves, as if you are the most important person in the room.

This story is not about how short time is. It is about how deeply Jesus loves within whatever time He is given.

The café is quiet when you walk in. Not silent, but hushed in that way that early mornings often are, when the world has not yet fully woken up. Light filters through the windows in pale gold stripes that fall across wooden tables and empty chairs. The smell of coffee hangs in the air, warm and familiar, the kind of scent that makes you breathe more slowly without even realizing it.

You choose a small table near the window. There is something about sitting where you can see both inside and outside at once, where you can feel connected to the world without being swallowed by it. A cup is placed in front of you. Steam rises gently, curling upward like a soft question.

And then He sits down.

There is no fanfare. No dramatic entrance. No sudden change in the room. If you were not paying attention, you might miss it. But you are paying attention, because something in your heart recognizes Him before your mind does. There is a weight to His presence, not heavy, but real, like gravity. He is both ordinary and overwhelming, both familiar and holy.

He looks at the cup, then at you, and there is a smile in His eyes that feels like being known.

“Before it cools,” He says softly, “I wanted to sit with you.”

You do not know what you expected Him to say, but it was not that. There is something about the way He says it, as if this moment was chosen, as if you were chosen, that makes your throat tighten.

There are so many things you could say. You could ask Him why your life looks the way it does. You could ask Him why prayers you whispered years ago still feel unanswered. You could ask Him why it is so hard to believe sometimes. But the steam is already thinning, and somehow you know you do not have time to pretend.

“I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” you say.

He nods, not surprised, not disappointed.

“You were never meant to do it alone,” He replies. “That is the part you keep forgetting.”

The words settle into you like something that has been true for a long time.

You look down at your hands. They look the same as they always do, marked by small scars, lines, evidence of work and worry. They look too ordinary to belong in a moment like this.

“I feel behind,” you admit. “Like everyone else got a map and I missed the meeting.”

He leans forward slightly, not to correct you, but to be closer.

“Do you know how many people I met who thought they were behind,” He asks. “Peter believed it after he failed. Martha lived it every day she felt unseen. Thomas carried it like a shadow. They all believed the lie that timing meant worth.”

He touches the side of the cup with one finger.

“This coffee does not lose its value when it cools,” He says. “It just changes temperature. You have not missed your moment. You are still in it.”

You feel something inside you loosen, like a knot that has been pulled too tight for too long.

“What about the things I wish I could undo,” you ask. “The words. The choices. The years that slipped away.”

For a moment He does not answer. He watches the steam fade, as if He is honoring the weight of what you have said.

“If regret could stop resurrection,” He finally says, “I would have never risen.”

The truth of that hangs between you, quiet and powerful.

There is a stillness now, not empty, but full, the kind that feels like being held.

The coffee is nearly cold.

“Why spend this time with me,” you ask. “If it is so short.”

He smiles, and in that smile there is both tenderness and something unbreakable.

“Because love does not measure moments by length,” He says. “Only by presence.”

He stands, but there is no rush in His movement. He places His hand over yours, warm and steady, and you feel something deeper than touch, something like being anchored.

“I am not waiting for you at the finish line,” He tells you. “I am walking with you in the middle, in the unfinished, in the questions.”

Then, as if He knows exactly what it will feel like when He is gone, He adds, “When the cup is cold and the room feels quiet, remember that I stayed until the very last warm moment.”

And then He is gone.

The chair across from you is empty. The coffee is cold. But something in you has been set on fire.

This is where the story might end, but this is where its meaning begins.

Because what you just experienced is not a fantasy. It is a parable. It is a truth wrapped in a scene. Jesus is still the One who stops for people. He is still the One who chooses presence over hurry. He is still the One who does not wait for your life to be perfect before He sits with you.

We live in a world that constantly tells us we are behind. Behind in our careers. Behind in our relationships. Behind in our faith. We are taught to measure our worth by our progress, to believe that if we have not arrived by a certain age, we have somehow failed. But Jesus has never operated on our timelines. He does not measure you by how fast you move. He measures you by how deeply you are loved.

Think of the people He chose. Fishermen with no religious credentials. A tax collector everyone despised. A woman with a broken past. A thief with no future. None of them were on schedule. None of them were impressive. All of them were loved.

The café, the cup, the cooling coffee, these are not just poetic details. They are mirrors. Every moment you are given is like that cup. Warm at first, full of possibility, then slowly cooling as time moves on. You do not get to keep it warm forever. But you do get to decide what you do with the warmth while it is there.

Jesus does not ask you to have forever. He asks you to have now.

He does not ask you to fix everything. He asks you to be present.

He does not ask you to be perfect. He asks you to be with Him.

So many people think faith is about getting everything right. But faith, at its core, is about sitting at the table, even when you do not know what to say, even when you feel behind, even when your hands look too ordinary to belong in something holy.

The holy has always loved ordinary hands.

Every time you pause to pray. Every time you open Scripture. Every time you choose kindness when bitterness would be easier. Every time you whisper His name when you feel alone, you are sitting back down at that table. The cup is being poured again. The warmth is there again. And Jesus is still choosing to be with you.

You may not hear His voice the way you did in the story. You may not see Him sitting across from you. But do not mistake that for absence. His presence is often quieter than we expect, but it is no less real.

There is a reason He compared Himself to bread, to water, to light. These are not dramatic things. They are everyday things. They are the things you need to live. Jesus did not come to be impressive. He came to be essential.

And He is still essential to you.

You may feel like your life is a series of cups that cooled too quickly, conversations you wish you had, prayers you wish you prayed differently, moments you wish you could relive. But Jesus does not live in your regret. He lives in your now. He sits with you in this moment, not the one you lost.

That is the miracle.

Now we will continue this journey deeper into what it means to sit with Jesus in the middle of an unfinished life, and how even the smallest moments can become places of resurrection.

The warmth that remained in that cup after Jesus left was not in the coffee. It was in you. That is the part people often misunderstand about moments with God. We think holiness fades when the moment ends, but what actually happens is that something is planted. The heat leaves the cup, but it enters the heart. That is how grace works. It never stays where it starts. It moves.

We live in a culture that treats moments as disposable. We scroll past them. We rush through them. We fill them with noise so we do not have to feel them. But Jesus has always used moments as seeds. One conversation at a well changed a woman’s entire life. One touch of a robe healed twelve years of suffering. One sentence on a cross opened heaven to a dying man. None of those moments were long. All of them were eternal.

When you imagine Jesus sitting with you for the time it takes a cup of coffee to cool, you are not imagining something sentimental. You are imagining something profoundly biblical. This is how He has always worked. He steps into the brief, the fragile, the overlooked, and turns it into something that lasts forever.

That is why the café matters. It is not special because of where it is. It is special because of who sat there. In the same way, your ordinary days are not holy because of what you do. They are holy because of who walks with you through them.

So many people think they have to wait until they have more time, more clarity, more spiritual discipline before they can really be with God. But Jesus does not wait for perfect schedules. He meets people in interruptions. He meets people between tasks. He meets people when the coffee is still warm but already cooling.

This is one of the quiet lessons of the gospel. God does not need long stretches of ideal circumstances. He needs a willing heart in a real moment.

The reason the story feels so tender is because it touches something true in you. You know what it is like to wish for just a few minutes with someone who understands you completely. You know what it is like to want to say everything you never had the courage to say. You know what it is like to feel time slipping through your fingers while your heart is still full.

Jesus understands that too.

When He walked the earth, He lived inside those same constraints. He did not get unlimited time with the people He loved. He did not get to stay and fix everything. He did not get to grow old with His friends. He lived with the knowledge that every conversation might be the last one.

And still, He chose to love.

That is what gives His presence such weight. When Jesus sits with you, it is never casual. It is never accidental. He knows the clock is running, and He still chooses you.

Think about the way He looked at people in Scripture. The way He stopped for them. The way He listened. The way He asked questions He already knew the answers to, simply because He wanted them to speak. That is the same way He looks at you.

You do not have to impress Him. You do not have to explain yourself. You do not have to pretend to be further along than you are. You just have to sit down.

The table in that café is every place you have ever met God without realizing it. The quiet car ride. The late night prayer. The tear that fell when no one was watching. The breath you took when you felt like giving up but did not. Those are all places where Jesus was sitting with you while the cup cooled.

And here is the deeper truth. Even when you walk away from the table, He does not. You may get distracted. You may forget what He said. You may go back to believing the lies that tell you that you are behind or broken or unworthy. But He remains.

That is why the story does not end with the cold coffee. It ends with a burning heart.

Because when Jesus speaks to you, something changes. Even if the moment is brief. Even if you cannot explain it. Even if you go back to your ordinary life afterward. Something holy has been touched, and it does not go back to being what it was before.

That is what resurrection is. Not just a body leaving a tomb, but a heart refusing to stay dead.

You are living in a season right now. It may be confusing. It may be painful. It may feel unfinished. But that does not mean it is empty. Jesus is sitting with you in it. He is listening. He is speaking. He is loving you in the time you have, not the time you wish you had.

The cup is always cooling. That is just what time does. But grace is always warm. And Jesus is always near.

So the next time you hold a cup of coffee, let it remind you of this. You do not need forever to be loved. You only need this moment.

Sit with Him here.

He is already at the table.

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

#Faith #Jesus #ChristianEncouragement #SpiritualGrowth #Hope #Grace #FaithJourney #ChristianLife

My Friday night plans are set!

I will be cheering on the Indiana Hoosiers Football Team as they play the Oregon Ducks in the Peach Bowl Game.

The radio back here in my room will be tuned in to The Flagship Station for IU Sports by 6:30 PM Central Time, an hour before game time, to catch pregame coverage from my favorite broadcasters. And I'll stay with this station for the radio call of the game.

Back in December, after the Christmas lights show at my county fair, my family and I made a late night stop at a recently opened Yemeni cafe several blocks away from our home. I bought a hot pistachio latte for myself, a strawberry refresher for my wife, and a chocolate croissant for all of us to share. Everything was delicious, but pricey (about $21 before tip).

Moka & Co. has more traditional Yemeni coffee choices and plenty of desserts like baklava and more savory items like samosas. As far as cafe corporate chains go, Moka & Co. is clean and the food and drink items are better than Starbucks and some Peet’s Coffee locations. I know there’s another smaller Yemeni cafe chain a few more miles away from our house and I plan on trying it in the near future.

So if Moka & Co. is in your neighborhood, give it a try. And yes, I do recommend the pistachio latte.

I need to make a quick stop.

#coffee #Yemeni #mokaandco

I went off the rails a little for the holiday. I managed to finish a surprise project but everything else fell by the wayside.

The typewriter

I've been working on setting up a low powered computer with Alpine Linux. You know how people are always saying Linux is so easy now that anyone can do it? Don't do that with Alpine Linux. It was originally intended for running on high security, niche devices. It's probably most commonly used in Docker images. Most people who interact with it probably don't put it on an actual computer.

Why did I want to? I've been using Linux since 2000. Possibly a little earlier. The first time I used it, I did it on an aging computer that I couldn't afford to upgrade. That describes most of the computers I've used it on, actually. The challenge in most of those cases was stripping something pretty full spec down to the point where it ran pretty tolerably.

In this case, I wanted to do it on purpose. On finding out about Alpine, I realized I had the perfect opportunity. The regular install's ISO takes up less than 400 MiB of space. Everything you want, you're adding to that count. Putting Xfce on it along with some other packages I needed have taken me to about 2 GiB. I'd like to set it up so it doesn't load Xfce by default but, right now, I'm most focused on making it a writing computer.

And technically it is. I'm typing this on it right now. The network connection is off. I'm typing this using the micro text editor from a virtual terminal.

When I get it back to a network, I'll run a Unison profile I created. It will copy this and any other local changes up to the network.

Some of my scripts aren't working ... yet but the Typewriter lives.

Update since I wrote the previous section

Turning off Xfce on boot turned out to be much easier than my experience with LXQt. I disabled automatic startup for the display manager using the rc-update del command used in Alpine for removing services from run groups.

When I do want to load the GUI, I type startx and it comes up.

For micro to be a good prose writing tool, I had to put this in .config/micro/settings.json:

{
	"softwrap": true,
	"wordwrap": true
}

To make Unison work the way I wanted, I created the profile using the GUI on my main Linux computer and adjusted it until it worked the way I wanted. I did a replace all on paths that were specific to my main Linux computer.

I've also adapted some of my writing related scripts for use on Alpine.

Outcomes

Due in part to Typewriter, I wrote almost 13K words in the last week. Typewriter has only been really operational for three writing days and, in those writing days, I wrote 10.5K words. That's an average of 3.3K words per day.

For me, those are pretty good numbers. If those are sustainable, I could write about 23K in a week.

Next week's goals

This is going to be a little sparse for a while.

1. Figure out my next project
2. Get some words written
3. Record at least one video

The current projects are resuming The Novel, starting work on Fallen Heaven, or writing book 3 of Vay Ideal.

I'm leaning toward working on a novel because I think a published Novel will probably drive some purchases of the Vay Ideal books. Adding additional Vay Ideal books while I'm not really having sales on Vay Ideal yet is probably not a useful thing at the moment.

With my improved word count from Typewriter, I did a bit of work on both Book 3 and The Novel.

#ProgressUpdate #VayIdeal

Siempre es buen momento para ir cerrando el año anterior porque aún queda gente con las luces de navidad encendidas. En diciembre pasó una cosa poco frecuente y es que tenga apuntados más juegos con partidas en físico que en BGA, que últimamente sólo tengo abiertas un par de partidas a juegos más complejos que ya conozco, en lugar de novedades, así que este mes hay poco que rascar por ahí.

Al que más he jugado ha sido Carnival of Sins porque normalmente, tras la primera partida, la gente se pica y quiere, puede que con poco éxito, usar la carta de Ira de mejor manera (en un par de ocasiones eso me dio la victoria, incentivando un poco la risa de malvado, siempre en pos del juego). Seguimos con la campaña de My City, avanzando lentamente, y hemos empezado una a Dorfromantik Sakura, que pinta bien aunque aún nos quede una partida al Dorfromantik original. Probé Leviathan Wilds en solitario, y parece que es lo suficientemente sencillo de reglas como para que le dé más partidas, aunque creo que a más de un jugador, la interacción lo debe hacer más interesante.

En BGA, que he jugado el resto de novedades aparte de Dorfromantik, sólo puedo opinar sobre Popcorn, porque Arabella y Wandering Towers creo que no capté lo suficiente como para ello. Popcorn es un juego estratégico sobre llevar un cine y ganar dinero llevando a espectadores a ver las películas que debes ir renovando, a la par que mejoras las butacas de tu cine para ir aumentando el número de efectos que se van desencadenando. Tiene algunos aspectos que siempre se valoran como positivos en este tipo de juegos, como que haya una fase del turno que es simultánea, de manera que el juego no se hace largo, pero que tampoco están implementadas de manera que represente una novedad demasiado interesante.

Nuevos juegos probados

• Arabella
• Dorfromantik: Sakura
• Leviathan Wilds
• Miams
• Popcorn
• Wandering Towers

Tags: #boardgames #juegosdemesa

Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.

This week's contributors: Lydia, Pépé Pépinière, Titi. This week's subjects: Happy New Year, Ankara Reimagined: Blending African Prints with Power Dressing — The Accra Corporate Board Room Girl Edition, Dressing etiquette, Snowman, and Gold Coast Restaurant and Cocktail bar upgrades

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Happy New Year to all of you, may health be with you. I haven't made too many reflections on 2025, but what sticks out is that the economy is at a standstill, if you are in business and wanted things to grow then you could say it was a lost year. We're trying to grab some of the culprits, but even if we do it is not positive thinking. Pray 2026 gives a more positive vibe.

Ankara Reimagined: Blending African Prints with Power Dressing — The Accra Corporate Board Room Girl Edition. Where culture meets confidence in the boardroom. There’s something undeniably powerful about a woman who walks into a room wearing colour — not just any colour, but Ankara, that bold, unapologetic symphony of pattern and pride. For the Accra corporate girl, African prints aren’t just fashion — they’re identity, heritage, and a statement that says, “I can be powerful and vibrant at the same time.” Gone are the days when corporate wear meant dull greys and strict suits. Today’s Accra professional knows how to weave her roots into her rhythm, one print at a time. The New Corporate Power Look: Modern power dressing is no longer just about shoulder pads and monochrome suits — it’s about expression. In Accra, where creativity meets commerce, the corporate wardrobe has evolved. Imagine a fitted Ankara blazer layered over crisp white pants. Or a pencil skirt in a muted kente print paired with a silk blouse. It’s structure meets story — and it commands attention without saying a word. The key? Balance. Let one piece shine. If your Ankara skirt is vibrant, pair it with solid tones — think camel, cream, or navy. You want to say, “I’m bold, but I’m in control.” Print Meets Professionalism: Wearing prints at work doesn’t mean dressing for a festival. It’s about tailoring and tone. Choose Ankara pieces with cleaner patterns and softer palettes for a refined, office-ready finish. Earth tones, navy blues, and pastels make prints feel elegant and powerful — not overpowering. A structured Ankara jacket, for instance, instantly elevates a plain shift dress. Or try a high-waisted wax print trouser with a tucked-in chiffon blouse for that “I came to close deals and turn heads” energy. To be continued.... Dressing etiquette. I agree that walking into a night club dressed in a T-shirt and shorts and flipflops is not the way to go, but some seem not to know and must be told. And will be rejected at the door. But I wear flipflops till I get there and then change into my full 4 inches, no platform. And keep the flipflops rolled in my handbag. A bit of a worrying development is the searching at the door for weapons, makes you wonder what sort of people come there. And I wouldn't even know how to use a gun. So I happily stepped forward at SOHO, Marina mall (Airport City, Airport By-pass Rd, Accra), to be searched, first with something around me that made biiiiii, and then hands on check of my handbag. REJECTED. Flipflops in the handbag, whilst it strongly said no flip flops allowed. My mother taught me never to argue with fools because the passers-by wouldn't know who of the 2 is the fool, so I agreed to leave my handbag at the check point. And now I was allowed in, I had passed. You get into the club through a lift which opens directly into the club, which has limited lightening and a few king size machos to keep you out of the walkways. I haven't really seen where to get out in case of a fire when that lift would not work, pray all lights will go on and escape staircases clearly indicated in case of too much smoke. No flipflops and T shirts agreed, but some of the ladies were dressed such that I wondered if I was in a brothel, but maybe these days it is decent? Have to go back one of these days to make a proper evaluation but as for now it will not be my favourite haunt for 2026.

Snowman, Oxford Street, near the Osu Presbyterian Church, Accra. This is a creamery selling sort of milkshakes/ice creams with several branches spread over Accra. Snow Man is also a Japanese idol boy band founded in 2020 and with more than 20 million copies sold, Japanese style of creating entertainment. And then of course there is the original snowman, every child's dream, but I am told it is hard work. And there is the mysterious Abominable Snowman purported to inhabit the Himalayan mountain range in Asia. Many dubious articles have been offered in an attempt to prove the existence of this Yeti, including disputed video recordings, photographs, and plaster casts of large footprints. The Yeti, as it is called is often described as being a large, ape-like creature that is covered with brown, grey, or white hair, and it is sometimes depicted as having large, sharp teeth. But we just came for ice cream and had a strawberry delight and a “make your shake”, at 105 GHS each, which turned out to be very cold and creamy milk shake but quite nice.

Gold Coast Restaurant and Cocktail bar upgrades. 32 Fifth Avenue Extension opposite Afrikiko, Cantonments, Accra. Renovations were going on for months, one at a time, but it seems they've now come to the end and opened for the Xmas. Neat dining tables with plate mats and napkins, and a new price list that has to pay for all this, vodka at 100 GHC a shot and a virgin Mojito at 170. Popular is Tilapia à la Abidjan, 185. Yam fries go for 55 GHS, kebabs are at 20 GHC. You can find your way here but need to study before you order. And they have regular live music which makes things worthwhile. Service is prompt.

Lydia...

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I’m kinda broken about fascism. The tiny town I live in is indifferent, most folks thinking the big cities deserve what’s happening to them; most folks here are just ignorant. So, there’s not a lot of community within walking distance to be in community with over issues like this.

Ironically, if the supply chains all come crashing down tomorrow, I feel more secure with these people than half the leftists I’ve known.

But I couldn’t be at a vigil last night, I didn’t have a place to put that sadness and heartbreak and anger and fear, so I painted instead.

Getting somewhat better at gel plates – I think I need to reevaluate the paper I’m using. My mixed media sketchbook might not be the best option here.

Our Father Who art in heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

Slædepatruljen

Reading the clocks and boulders For trips upon the chloe and land Third highest and under known A space to see the view Of Navy ships and current wonder From a place to know of wisdom here Thousands belted to there believe A prophet for the heavens And to unto this place called Danish A sovereign reel and we are proud For prodding first and orchestration Unruly to the fairness day Riding snow and proper here The forest of a plain in man Sore, sore, but truly on In fortune with a witness Currents lit and duly proper A place to here find out With to and there beyond the bog A sea is truly home The bay and the beautiful Expectants reap Four bowls for dog and man With Lytton space and married plan No hotel but time A fresh day on and pulsing chair The year is getting younger But far but better and mercy day A salience in ray The noon and valour can For piercing shine a sure And sun on skin with little hound a space to bow and round- The verdant was of this small world To froth in ocean be Fortune there and is for us Trains and car and bus A view in rod to see the seek Here asore but imbued in clear Fittings fjord and land To forest glen of over course The story’s longest night We’ll overturn- then intern our sun Repeat upon that hill Of southern north and wilding here The limerence and chill

JOURNAL 9 janvier 2026

À 20:30, on était dans le métro, séisme intensité 3, mais ça a bien remué. Les pauvres voyageurs se sont réveillés. Annonce du conducteur : on était arrêtés en plein tunnel. C'est jamais rassurant, on se regarde, on vérifie les portables, épicentre pas loin de tôkyô cette fois. Au bout de dix minutes le métro est reparti. La vie quotidienne dans ce pays tremblant, on ne s'ennuie jamais longtemps.

Ce soir kotastu, moi un bouquin et mon dictionnaire Larousse acheté d'occasion à Paris. Je l'aime avec ses illustrations gravées, certes il est pas très actuel (édition 1920 ) mais pour lire le français de l'époque c'est parfait justement. Pendant ce temps ma princesse entre deux sourires par dessus l'écran de son laptop tape nerveusement sur le clavier. chicachicachica Elle en a au moins pour une heure m'a-t-elle dit. On est pas couchées.

Début janvier, le moment est venu de mon rendez-vous annuel avec un nouveau roman de Philippe Besson, un auteur que je lis fidèlement depuis ses premiers romans au début des années 2000, même si mon enthousiasme pour ses textes a faibli depuis cette époque. Cette année, il s’agit de Une pension en Italie, toujours publié chez Julliard.

Milieu des années 60, en Toscane. Un été caniculaire. Une famille française en villégiature. Un événement inattendu. Des vies qui basculent irrémédiablement. Un secret qui s'impose aussitôt. Un écrivain, héritier de cette histoire, en quête de la vérité.

Philippe Besson revient cette année avec un récit autour d'un secret de famille qui concerne son grand-père paternel, autour d'un séjour de vacances en Italie au milieu des années 1960. Quand on connait Philippe Besson et son œuvre, le secret en question est assez aisé à devenir, et il ne fait d'ailleurs pas durer le suspense très longtemps. L'enjeu, ce n'est pas le secret lui-même, mais le déroulement des événements, leurs conséquences sur la famille, et la suite de l’histoire, pour les uns et les autres.

On retrouve le style caractéristique de Philippe Besson, avec ses tics de langage, ses effets de style maladroits, ses tentatives d'écrire du beau sans en avoir l'air. J'y ai longtemps été sensible, je le suis moins désormais.

Le récit lui-même est sans surprise, parfois un peu plat. Pourtant, la dernière partie m'a saisi au cœur, alors que je ne m'y attendais plus. J'ai refermé le livre en me disant qu'il reste dans l'écriture de Philippe Besson quelques traces de ce que j'avais tant aimé il y a plus de vingt ans, ou bien qu'il reste quelques traces de celui que j'étais alors, plus jeune, plus naïf sans doute.