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Golden hour

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One more wedding. That’s what she’d told herself. Her portrait studio was already up and running, and she was done with the traveling and the fourteen-hour days and the family drama. Just one last wedding.

Jacqui checked the time on her phone for the umpteenth time and inhaled deeply. Screw it, the mindful breathing wasn’t cutting it. She caught the bartender’s eye. “Whiskey, please. Neat.”

She normally never drank at weddings–at least not until she clocked off. But this uncertainty was doing her head in.

She shouldn’t have agreed to the job, but it was Celia. Plus the new studio lights were expensive, and the groom was minted. Like, banking-money minted. This wedding was leaking money, from the exclusive manor-hotel venue with its manicured lawns, uniformed staff, open bar, to Celia’s dress, which Jacqui knew had been a gift from the groom’s corporate lawyer father. Celia had whispered that it cost “two months’s rent.” Who knew how much that might mean.

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Plus, she’d known Celia since grammar school in Cork. It would be like turning down family; she’d never have heard the end of it.

But then Celia had moved the wedding back two hours, and now Jacqui was screwed. She let the whiskey slide down her throat and its warmth seep up her spine.

How the hell to explain to a bride that you couldn’t take pictures during golden hour because of magic.

She should have cancelled.

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The last time Jacqui had shot a wedding at golden hour, the bride’s politician brother had appeared in every picture with a blurred mouth. He was arrested a week later on corruption charges, and every paper in the country had run headlines using the word ‘liar.’ Before that, it had been her own cousin’s university graduation, where he’d appeared transparent around the edges in every photo. A year later he’d abandoned medical school and cut ties with the family. Was now living in New Zealand, a diving instructor.

Jacqui never knew what truth might be revealed, or how cryptic or obvious it would be. She only knew she didn’t want the knowledge.

Curse the golden hour. And curse whichever social media wedding influencer Celia was following who had no doubt insisted the perfect wedding had to have flawless photos taken in the purest light, so her skin would look magazine-cover exquisite.

Oh, this was nuts. Why wasn’t she at home on her couch with Andy and Luna, drinking pinot and watching something benign on telly? Maybe Ted Lasso or even Breaking Bad. Something old. Something with an ending she already knew.

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The wedding planner was even now corralling the families towards the manor’s water feature. It would be fine if there was a chance in hell it would take less than twenty minutes to herd them all to one place, but wedding party guests were basically cats when it came to organisation. Even now they were milling around, new ones wandering off as lost ones returned.

Celia appeared on the grass, framed by the pristine white french doors of the bar area, which led onto the lawn. Gorgeous. And sweet. Did not deserve what was coming.

What might be coming? Jacqui liked the revised verb. Surely there had to be a chance that it wouldn’t happen again. Surely. Oh, quit kidding yourself. This had happened too many times to pretend and in too many different contexts. The magic worked on any camera, fancy or plain, expensive or crap.

Out there on the green, Celia was clearly at her wits’ end, searching for wayward relatives. It would be the twenty-somethings. Since they weren’t here at the bar, they were either at the hotel lounge, or in some corner having a sneaky spliff.

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The bride looked to her right, just at that moment, still framed beautifully, the golden hour just about to make its glorious appearance and transform the light into magic, figuratively. And literally.

Jacqui raised her water glass and Celia returned an exasperated smile just as Gavin joined her. As the couple spoke, heads bent towards each other, love clear on both faces, Jacqui raised her phone and snapped a shot. Heart pounding, she checked the image.

On the screen, Celia was kissing air. The groom had vanished.

There on the grass, solid and substantial; in the photo, absent.

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In the years since this golden hour trouble had started, she’d seen lies, grief, ghosts and once a man whose shadow walked three feet ahead of him. She’d never seen a bride or groom simply disappear.

“Bollocks.”

The bartender raised her eyebrows and tilted her head towards the whiskey, suggesting another drink.

“I wish. But no, thanks.”

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 Maybe she could fake a robbery of all her cameras. At least for an hour. She played the scenario out in her head: she’d exit the main bar carrying all her gear, and then come back moments later claiming a theft? Right.

She could feign illness. Some kind of sickness so debilitating that she couldn’t hold out for one hour…like a heart attack? Cue: a lifetime of guilt. Celia’s father had died of a heart attack. No, Jacqui couldn’t take the entire wedding down like that.

There was always the truth. After all, Celia’d grown up in Cork, where every family possessed at least one story nobody could quite explain. But no. This was her husband, and her wedding day.

Perhaps she should check again. Jacqui slid off her barstool and approached the french doors. From the threshold, she snapped a few more of the crowd. Several of Gavin, specifically, who looked perfect in this flood of golden light.

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She swiped through. There he was in the ceremony, saying his vows, holding the ring, kissing the bride, and walking up the aisle afterwards. All present and correct. But another swipe and there they all were, the whole wedding party, outside–all but Gavin. The groom was missing. Double bollocks.

Scanning the shots, in case some additional disaster had yet to reveal itself to her, it didn’t appear that any other guests were affected. Thank Hecate for that.

“I know it’s getting late. We’re almost ready, I swear.”

Jacqui jolted. It was Celia, who’d approached on stealthy-bride Manolos.

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“Oh–Hey. It’s fine. It’s nothing. Take your time.”

“Is everything alright? Your expression…are the photos okay?”

The eagerness in her bright blue eyes belied the question. Celia didn’t actually believe anything would be wrong with the pictures. This wasn’t even the right camera, just a phone. All the good, important shots would be on the expensive gear. “Totally fine! I was just checking–reading a text. All good.”

Celia nodded. “Honestly, I’m losing my patience. I’m giving them five more minutes and then they just won’t be in the family photos. You know?”

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Jacqui stretched her lips into a smile she didn’t feel. Wished for another whiskey to appear in her hand. Why didn’t the magic happen like that? Why with the damn photos?

“Jacqui, you look just like you did on the day Sean Ryan asked you to the Winter Dance. What aren’t you telling me?” Celia stepped closer, with laser focus on Jacqui’s screen. “Those are photos of today. Show me.”

She took the phone and peered at it. Frowned. Swiped. Swiped again, and again. Her frown deepened.

Jacqui winced. “I–”

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“Odd.” She swiped further back and paused. “He’s here.”

“Yeah.” “But not here.”

Jacqui shook her head.

“It’s funny…” But Celia didn’t finish the thought. She handed Jacqui the phone and waved at the bartender. “Two whiskeys, please.”

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“Bless you.”

“This is–” Celia bit her lip. “Come on.”

She marched to the bar, and Jacqui had no choice but to follow, grasping for something– anything–to say to explain the void.

“Do you know what it means?” Celia handed Jacqui a lowball tumbler.

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“No.” She shook her head with more certainty than she felt. “It’s the time of day. Something about this light reveals…something. I can’t even say ‘truth.’ Because I just don’t know.”

Celia sipped her drink, thoughtful, eyes on the lawn on the other side of the french doors, where the wedding planner was gesturing like a demented traffic warden. “They’ll be waiting. I have to go back out there.” She remained seated.

Jacqui tossed back her drink in one gulp. “We have to.” She savored the whiskey’s burn. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Celia was still staring at the scene on the lawn, at Gavin. Maybe he wasn’t the doting fiance Jacqui assumed. Maybe Celia had already suspected that something wasn’t as it should be. An illness. Or an affair. Maybe she’d already spent months imagining a future without him.

“You should go. I’ll grab my gear.”

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Celia glided across the room in that Tuula Tatsuki sheath and those Manolo Blahnik stilettos, framed in gold by the light, which was even now changing. Darkening.

Perhaps the Golden Hour had passed. Maybe the danger was over.

Jacqui slipped her phone in her pocket and slung her bag over her shoulder. As she walked towards the lawn, she saw Celia take her place next to her husband, and Gavin look down at her with love. Celia didn’t look back. The light changed to blue.

The warmth of the whiskey evaporated as a chill ran straight up her spine. – Source:reedsy.com

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Features

Trigger-happiness and the human liver

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Ghana Police Logo

THE POLICE force has produced some of the country’s best dancers, but when it comes to shooting, I cannot vouch for all of Peter Nanfuri’s men. Most of them are excellent marksmen, but as for some, they whimsically believe that a warning shot must be targeted at a human jaw to make it effective. The shot must warn the jaw not to misbehave.

Coming back to dancing, I must stand at ease and doff my hat to the police force. I do not know whether Honourable Peter dances stylishly. But I have attended at least two parties organised by policemen and I was doubly impressed by the rare showmanship of inspectors, superintendents, commissioners, constables and all. I called a corporal friend aside and asked whether dancing was part of the syllabus at Police College.

Indeed, I was overwhelmed, even awe-inspired at the high quality of individual choreographic spins, jerks, twists and turns. As the climax approached at one such party, a sergeant, determined to steal the show, almost ‘took to flight’ in one of Sıkaman’s most celebrated choreographic exhibitions. Virtually airborne, he combined traditional dance styles with Pentecostal boogie and ended up break-dancing, triggering off a standing ovation.

But it was a lady corporal who finally sent the crowd into a frenzy. She did not only belly-dance; her body was vibrating as if it had been connected to electricity. It was a marvel. I have never been so much impressed in life.

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Actually, I do not know why police staff do not contest in national dance competitions. They can have a try at it, why not? Just like journalists planning to try their hands at boxing part-time, to supplement their income.

We’ve got some pen-pushers whom you could mistake for fierce welter-weights or formidable super-featherweight, Azumah Nelson type. We are also privileged to have a few southpaws and I’m thinking about getting into the heavyweight division and ask Kofi Coomson to be my sparring mate. The only problem is that I can’t guarantee the safety of his ribs, taking into consideration that he is not quite macho.

He’d have to ‘beef up’ before we meet.

Yes, returning to the palaver of the police, I must say unreservedly that some bad nuts are embarrassing the force. It is for very good reasons that the Police Administration is about to institute a special judicial tribunal to try its personnel who resort to rampant and careless use of firearms, to the extent that a warning shot into the air can mysteriously wind up someone’s liver.

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On many occasions, I have been surprised  because the police are well-trained and remember they once won a shooting contest, they beat the army and navy to second and third  places. So how come that some of them mishandle weapons so childishly as to cause injury when there should be no cause for it?

The Inspector-General of Police’s embarrassment is evinced in his words. He observes that various accidents resulting from now indiscriminate “stray” bullets and warning shot give the impression that the police aren’t properly, trained in weapons handling.

 “Members of the public have become so aggrieved and intolerant that they are not even prepared to listen to official explanations on how the accidents happened, “he said.

Well, until the police sort themselves out as to those who are hopelessly incompetent in handling weapons aim who are not, I do not think it would be prudent to make policemen use live ammunitions in public unless the situation really demands it. Other means of subduing recalcitrant are available – rubber bullets, blank shots, tear gas, etc.

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When tear gas was recently used at Legon during a students’ demonstration, it was quite effective in dispersing them.  I didn’t know student could run that fast on empty stomachs. Some did not eat breakfast before joining the demo, but when the tear gas came, they exhibited excellent footwork, taking off in Olympic fashion, Bravo!

In any case, the topic cannot be exhausted without reflecting on another aspect of the IGP’s speech at the opening of a refresher course for Police Inspectors. He noted that even if a police Officer suffers any form of death at the hands of a criminal in the course of protecting life and property, the tragedy of the policeman’s death does not evoke any sympathy whatsoever from the public.

I think that is a good point to ponder, and it brings into question the idea of self-defense on the part of policemen. Should a policeman, for instance, kill a criminal who is out to cause harm or death to him? It needs to be debated because both the policeman and the dangerous criminal have the right to life.

Anyhow, the embarrassment being caused to the IGP by some careless policeman is well expressed. The problem is that when a policeman fires a warming shot that causes injury, people do not blame only the policeman. They also blame the government. It is just like someone who blamed the government when his mother-in-law slapped him hard in the eye. I don’t know whether he wanted the government to receive the slap on his behalf.

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At any rate, customs officers who are also trigger-happy and misuse weapons in the performance of their duties will be sanctioned. In fact, they’ll be sacked! Sounds deterring isn’t it?

This article was first published on Saturday November 14, 1998

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Migrant health, wellbeing in Finland  

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Helsinki university central hospital

Today, I focus on the theme of mental health and wellbeing among Ghanaian migrants in Finland, a move away from the topic of personalities or groups and their accomplishments within the Ghanaian community in Finland that I have been writing on.

In recent times, I have been thinking about the mental health of Ghanaian (and other) migrant parents’ social environments and the impact on their children’s wellbeing in Finland.

According to research, childhood disadvantage is associated with adult psychological distress, although the role of behavioural risk factors around it may be unclear.

Mental health is a huge problem in the world, according to the World Health Organisation (WHO). Studies have also shown that maternal, paternal and parental distress (i.e. both maternal and paternal distress) are associated with reduced linear growth of the children.

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When things go bad, social child welfare interventions ensure that children are taken away (child removals) from the parent or parents for safe keeping.

In Finland, studies have examined how behavioural risk factors mediate the effects of childhood disadvantage on adult psychological distress. There is a correlation between parent and infant psychotherapy on maternal mental health and psychological functioning and children’s welfare. The question is: what is the situation with Ghanaian migrants and their health in Finland?

The focus of NGOs and migrant associations

The World Health Organisation (WHO) defines health as “a state of complete physical, mental, and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity” (see www.who.int).

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Finland has a very good healthcare delivery system and social services accessible to all residents in the country. Many migrants, including those in the Ghanaian community, are aware of these opportunities and are expected to take advantage of such chances.

As I wrote some time ago, a healthy migrant community is beneficial to the society as a whole. In Finland, public agencies, migrant associations and other non-governmental organisations (NGOs) have been giving health information in various channels— webinars, mass media (radio, TV, as well as the new media and others). Such actions are very helpful to the people.

It has been pointed out that factors that improve mental health and wellbeing must be supported. Migrants’ mental and general health or wellbeing are affected by many factors, including cultural ideas of health, illnesses, and the prevention, treatment and symptoms of illnesses (see www.thl.fi). 

Advocacy by the civil society sector

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I have recently been making inquiries about migrants’ health generally and wellbeing in Finland. Many people see the need for advocacy, to intensify education and create more awareness about health and wellbeing of migrants in Finland.

NGOs and other organisations as part of the civil society sector play a crucial role in supporting migrant health in Finland, completing public services by offering legal advice, mental health support, and specialized services for vulnerable groups. Such NGOs and social groups, including migrant associations, offer specialized support for migrant women, while others are involved in activities that address social exclusion issues that impact health.

Research and other reports indicate that NGOs and other social institutions advocate for the involvement of individuals and communities in health decision-making. It has been pointed out that migrants’ involvement in health decision-making requires explicit national policies that are implemented evenly across policy-making. 

Integration

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According to the Finnish health department, health and wellbeing are an important part of the integration process. Hence, it is accepted that factors to improve health and wellbeing must be supported.

Generally, migrant associations help the health authorities and formally create awareness among their members and other migrants, usually in collaboration with some Finnish institutions, and are thus an important tool for several migrants to be positively active and to get their interest and concerns heard.

As I wrote previously, the role of migrant associations acting as bridge-builders for the integration and inclusion of migrants through participation in the decision making process and by acting as a representative voice is highly appreciated in Finland.

The social media outlets have become an important means for disseminating information and it could be a key medium through which migrant groups or associations and other institutions could educate people.

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A positive outlook on the Finnish healthcare system

As I keep saying, Ghanaian and other African migrants in Finland generally have a positive mind and hope for the best in life. They know that the Finnish healthcare system, one of the best in the world, has a comprehensive healthcare service that caters for every resident in the country.

Migrants know that as residents they can count on and readily access good healthcare service delivery in Finland. All they need to do is to go for regular medical checks and counselling since early diagnosis is key in the treatment of any illness. Adhering to treatment at the hospital is the key. Assigning spiritual interpretations could be detrimental. Thank you!

GHANA MATTERS column appears fortnightly. Written in simple, layman’s terms, it concentrates on matters about Ghana and beyond. It focuses on everyday life issues relating to the social, cultural, economic, religious, political, health, sports, youth, gender, etc. It strives to remind us all that Ghana comes first. The column also takes a candid look at the meanings and repercussions of our actions, especially those things we take for granted or even ignore. There are key Ghanaian values we should uphold rather than disregard with impunity. We should not overlook the obvious. We need to search for the hidden or deeply embedded values and try to project them.

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With Dr Perpetual Crentsil

perpetual.crentsil@yahoo.com

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