Month: November 2026

I have been thinking about animal defences.

The porcupine comes with spikes. The tortoise has a shell into which it can retreat when danger arrives. Some animals camouflage themselves, others run so fast that by the time you have decided what to do about them, they are already gone.

They all seem to have something.

Which got me thinking. What exactly did God give man?

No spikes. No shell. No camouflage. Against some animals, our chances would be embarrassingly poor.

Yet here we are.

Perhaps our defences were not meant to be so obvious. We have intelligence, wisdom, discernment, boundaries and faith. We can recognise danger, anticipate consequences and protect one another.

But having these defences is one thing. Learning to use them is quite another.

Perhaps even the animals have some learning to do. A young tortoise must learn when to retreat, and a young porcupine must eventually discover that its spikes are not merely decorative.

Which leaves me wondering: How do we learn to master our physical and spiritual defences? How do we protect ourselves without becoming hardened, and remain vulnerable to love without becoming defenceless?

Perhaps being equipped is only the beginning.

Ever seen those videos of online orders gone wrong? You order something, looking forward to its arrival, only to discover that what has been delivered bears little resemblance to what you thought you were buying.

Sometimes life does an equally impressive job of getting deliveries wrong.

People, relationships and environments turn out to be entirely different from what we imagined or were led to believe. Sometimes the discrepancy is so remarkable that one wonders whether somebody somewhere mixed up the orders.

The unfortunate difference is that life does not always offer the option of returning an item.

Some deliveries have to be managed. Others have to be handed over to someone else. And some leave us wondering how exactly we are supposed to make use of something we never ordered in the first place.

A very fond memory of mine as a young woman was going to the second-hand clothing markets in Accra. The sellers had their methods of persuading one to buy their wares. One trick was showcasing certain clothing items as particularly sought after. These were items, they claimed, everyone had been asking for. They would take time to tell you about so so and so who had come by and promised to definitely pick them up the next couple of days.

The idea was simple: make a piece of clothing appear desired by others, and you might make it more desirable to the person before you.

This method reveals a very core human nature. Sometimes, our desire for something has less to do with the thing itself and more to do with the fact that others have it or want it.

This method is not only used in those second hand markets in Accra. We want what is popular, admire what others admire, and often measure the value of what we have against what others own. Without realising it, our desires are primarily shaped by the preferences of others.

The issue is, there will always be something someone else has that we do not. There will always be another trend to follow, another achievement to pursue, and another standard against which to measure ourselves.

If we are not careful, we might spend our lives chasing trends and things we never really needed.

Perhaps this is why contentment requires a level of self-awareness. Being able to distinguish between what we genuinely desire and be appreciative of what we have.

I think being content means being actually inspired by what others have but having a deep sense of self awareness to know you will not chase it to fit the crowd but for yourself.

Perhaps real freedom lies in knowing ourselves, our needs and desires and being appreciating of what we have.

“Forgiveness isn’t always about doing something for a human relationship but rather about being obedient to what God has instructed us to do.” — Lysa TerKeurst

I have often associated forgiveness with reconciliation, believing that its purpose was to repair a relationship or rebuild what had been broken. But what happens when the relationship remains broken?

What if the person never apologises or acknowledges the hurt they caused? Do we still forgive?

Lysa TerKeurst’s words remind us that forgiveness is not ultimately about what we can salvage from a relationship; it is about our obedience to God.

This is where forgiveness becomes difficult. We may never receive the apology we hoped for or see the other person take responsibility. Yet our willingness to forgive cannot depend on their willingness to make things right.

This does not mean we must restore every relationship or abandon healthy boundaries. Forgiveness does not require us to remain in situations that continue to hurt us.

Perhaps the real test of forgiveness is whether we can obey God even when reconciliation is not possible.

We may not be able to change what happened or how another person responds, but we can choose how we respond to God’s instruction.

Sometimes, forgiveness will not bring two people back together. It may not change the relationship at all.

But it allows us to honour God, even when the outcome is not what we hoped for.

I would like to take you through a couple of ways by which you could become a native English speaker. I am sorry if it sounds simple, but there is something I need you to know.

If you are Black and from an African country, then I am sorry, it does not count.

First, you could be born in an English-speaking country. You grow up listening to English, attend school in English, argue with your siblings in English, and eventually express yourself better in English than in any other language.

Congratulations! You are a native English speaker.

Unless, of course, your parents are Ghanaian, Nigerian, or Kenyan.

Were you born in Britain? Yes.

Did you grow up there? Yes.

Do you have a British passport? Yes.

Do you speak with a British accent? Yes.

Wonderful. But where are you really from?

Ah, Ghana.

I see.

Apparently, English comes with an invisible family tree, and your roots can disqualify you from belonging to a language you have spoken all your life.

Perhaps you could try another method. Obtain every English qualification available to humanity. Take the IELTS. Earn a degree in English literature. Become an English teacher. Write books and publish academic papers.

Surely, someone will eventually declare you a native English speaker.

But I would not advise holding your breath.

Because the problem may never have been your English.

Consider Ghana, where English is an official language and the medium of instruction in schools. Many Ghanaians use it daily to study, work, communicate, and tell their stories. For some, it is their first language. For others, it is one of several languages they speak fluently.

Yet, when a Ghanaian speaks English, the conversation can quickly become an assessment of their accent.

Meanwhile, a British person can speak with an accent so thick that you need subtitles to understand them, and nobody questions whether they are a native speaker.

Funny, isn’t it?

Consider Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and the United States, former British settler colonies where distinct varieties of English are widely accepted as legitimate. Their accents are simply part of the language.

Yet African varieties of English are sometimes treated as imitations rather than legitimate forms in their own right.

Of course, birthplace alone does not determine whether someone is a native speaker. A white Australian who grows up speaking Mandarin may not speak English as a first language. A Ghanaian who grows up speaking English from infancy may be a native speaker.

So why are we sometimes quicker to accept one person’s claim than another’s?

Perhaps we have confused being a native English speaker with being a white English speaker.

English may have originated in England, but it has travelled, evolved, and become part of the lives of millions of people worldwide. Ghanaian English is not failed British English. It reflects the experiences of the people who speak it.

Everyone has an accent, including those who think they do not.

I may never become a native English speaker in the eyes of those who have already decided what one should look like.

And that is fine.

I refuse to spend my life auditioning for a title that someone else believes my skin colour disqualifies me from holding.

I have stories to tell.

And I intend to tell them in English.

My English.

With my accent.

On my terms.