So, it is my son’s birthday this week and I am flying out to spend his birthday with him. Barry schools abroad in Ghana. Ghana? I hear you gasp; yes you heard right: Ghana. He used to go to school in the UK but I didn’t feel that the discipline, nor the content, was adequate enough. I know all mothers say this but my son is a very clever boy, so clever that he soon realised by misbehaving in class he got to spend half an hour in the corridor doing whatever he chose. He would be sent out of his class for the most minor offences like answering a question without putting his hand up, or when asked by his teacher to tell a joke telling an inappropriate one. Aren’t all jokes inappropriate? Why a school teacher should ask a pupil to tell a joke is beyond me, especially when the teaching of times tables has been omitted from the national curriculum.
Anyway, at its height he would be sent out 3 times a day, more than 8 hours a week, despite my objections. The last straw was when I was called into school on a “serious matter.” Barry had told another child in his class that should he tell lies Jesus would shoot an arrow from Heaven at them. At this, I roared with laughter. I was swiftly cautioned that they take threats like this very seriously. Well, that's what you get when you stop having morning assembly! So, I made the same tough decision that my parents made with me, to school abroad.
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| Parting feast of Bangers and Mash! |
Ghana is a wonderful place, filled with wonderful people. As a former British colony they retained the old grammar school system where children are taught to respect their elders and understand the importance of education, as opposed to somewhere to keep the kids whilst the parents are at work. I also feel it is important for him to understand his heritage, which is culturally rich. He has gotten over the initial shock of being away from his mother and has adjusted quite nicely.
Barry is into Moshi Monsters, so I’ve got him a fab cake, which is proving to be mission impossible to transport. Perhaps the 3 inch stilettos weren’t the best idea! Neither, I am beginning to feel, was my decision to allow contact with “Boatman.” Boatman is my ex-fiancé who has communication issues and a drink problem to boot. I’ll save this tale for another day, but to cut a long story short he felt that I should pay for the deposit he lost on my engagement ring when he called the wedding off! (Some people have no shame!) I have not spoken to him for 2 years, however he has started dropping me the occasional line to say hello, and seems to have matured. I have asked him to hook me up with a rental for the duration of my trip, thus he will be meeting me at the airport with said car. My stomach is doing flips in the bad sort of way.
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| The Guilt Cake |
Terminal 5 sucks as I can’t use any of the airport lounges, and I can’t do much shopping with a giant purple cake. My phone's out of juice so it is just me and my wedge of a book, Hilary Mantel's Bring Up the Bodies.
Training is on hold this week, as I’m away, but I hope to do a mini trek when I get to Accra.
Time to board! I hope the food is good.
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