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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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International character of Ghanaman and more

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Ghanaians can be found in every part of the world

The average modern Gold Coaster born and bred in Sikaman is an adventurous creature. Go to any part of the world and you’ll find Ghanaman diligently slugging it out either in the snow or in hot sweltering weather, earning a decent living.

Go to Guinea and see Ghanaman in the garb of a herbalist, curing the sick of various ailments. He makes the Guinean understand that not all diseases are caused by James Lucifer alias Jimmy Satan. On the contrary, most diseases are caused by kooko which can even attack the human nose and turn it upside down.

That kooko is also the cause of poverty and the internal bleeding of personal back-pocket economies. And that kooko can be cured using the chemistry underlying Sikaman herbal medicine which has been blessed by the gods of Larteh.

And before Ghanaman starts dispensing his herbal concoctions, he must attract the passing crowd with some Sıkaman-originated choreography, akin to a combination of adowa and agbadza, such that the dancer can easily dislocate a shoulder and start crying for his mother.

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When the crowd is enough to form a quorum, Ghanaman must perform magic as a side-attraction, and proceed to sell his drugs. The drugs are genuinely made from potent herbs which the Pharmacy Board of Sikaman says it has no confidence in. Believe me, Ghanaian herbalists are practising in neighbouring countries like Guinea, Cote d’Ivoire, Sierra Leone and Benin, while we are discouraging them from practising in Sikaman.

Go to Las Palmas and see Ghanaman as a fisherman. He sails on Korean-owned boats and is forced to eat garlic and raw tuna for radiant health. The garlic is also supposed to protect him against witches. But sometimes, he is not good bedfellows with some Korean crew members, and once in a while a fight breaks out.

The typical Korean is a Kung Fu expert and before displaying a golden dragon data. He must first terrify Ghanaman with a Korean dance which consists of wild arms and leg throwing. But Ghanaman is usually not daunted. Why has he been eating cancer kenkey all years without developing cancer? It mean is a superhuman capable of countering Kun fu side-kicks to the ribs.

Anyhow Ghanaman’s most potent arsenal lies in his fists. If he is a southpaw, it mean left fist is probably insured and can cause damage. When Ghanaman lands a cassava blow and it lands on a Korean chest, it has the effect of a cruise missile. If there is no ceasefire a funeral cannot be ruled out.

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Greenland

Go to Alaska and find Ghanaman there. Greenland, Iceland, Brazil, Argentina, Madagascar, everywhere and you’ll find him. He has become an international citizen and is generally lauded for his hardwork, sincerity and honesty.

However, some bad nuts are also condemned and despised.

The world and all its parts and corners are for the human race, and anyone can choose to live anywhere and earn a decent living so long as he doesn’t misconduct himself or become a social misfit and a law unto himself.

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Sıkaman for instance accepts foreigners, and we are so liberal that people just come in through our borders and we welcome them with the best palmwine in town and goat light soup. Who cares about passports and visas? Our hospitality is, as it were legendary.

So we have Liberians, Nigerians, Sierra Leoneans, Togolese, Europeans, Americans, Scandinavians and Koreans in Sikaman.  And some of them have misinterpreted our overzealous accommodation to mean “foolishness” and are misconducting themselves.

The newspapers carry stories of some unscrupulous Nigerians stealing, defrauding and collaborating with their Sikaman counterparts to rob people. You’ll find some good and law-abiding Liberians around but some other Liberians are in the business of fraud, robbery, money printing, money doubling, anything criminal.

Ghanaian hospitality can no longer be extended to such people. I do not think Ghanaians will be treated kindly either, when they misbehave anywhere in the world. Those who come from outside with the intention of bringing down their evil deeds and to practise them here professionally must be getting ready because Ghanaians are getting fed up with the menace.

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These days, you’ll find strange people following you as soon as you emerge from a bank. If you are not careful, they’ll wrestle your briefcase from you and speed away in a waiting taxi.

Someone was just saying that many foreign criminals are flocking to Ghana because in their countries, they are enable to operate either because they are being looked for by the police for offences committed or fear instant justice at the hands of mobs. Ghanaians, it is said, are humanitarian in dealing with criminals.

Well, in some African countries, a thief who is being chased runs directly to the police station in his own interest and begs the officer at the counter to lock him up. Otherwise he’ll be lynched or be burnt to death. In Ghana, it is the opposite. The thieves run far away from the cop stations.

The criminals must reform and stay peacefully in Sikaman or quit. No court case!

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This article was first published on Saturday September 5, 1998

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The architecture of existence: How we live and die

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​The human condition is defined by two absolute, biological bookends: the commencement of complex cellular animation and its ultimate, irreversible cessation.

For centuries, medicine treated life and death as strictly separate states. Today, modern pathology and molecular biology reveal a more profound truth: the mechanisms that allow us to live are the exact same mechanisms that dictate how we die.

​Understanding this relationship is no longer just a philosophical pursuit. It is a clinical necessity for managing public health in the 21st century.

Part I: How we live – The mechanics of animation

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​At its core, biological life is a continuous, high-stakes battle against entropy (the natural tendency of systems to degrade into disorder). To maintain form, consciousness, and function, the human body relies on three fundamental pillars:

1. Cellular respiration and energy production

​Every second of human life is powered by the conversion of oxygen and glucose into Adenosine Triphosphate (ATP), the universal energy currency of our cells. This process occurs within the mitochondria.

Without a constant supply of ATP, the microscopic pumps that maintain electrical gradients across our cell membranes fail, causing cellular collapse within minutes.

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2. Homeostasis: The balancing act

​To survive, the internal environment of the body must remain incredibly stable, regardless of external chaos. This balancing act, known as homeostasis, regulates:

​Blood pH: Strictly maintained between 7.35 and 7.45.

​Core Temperature: Ideally kept around 37°C (98.6°F).

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​Electrolyte Balance: Precise ratios of sodium, potassium, and calcium that allow nerves to fire and muscles to contract.

​3. The Autonomic Nervous System (ANS)

​The ANS acts as the invisible conductor of life, split into two complementary branches:

Part II: How we die – The path of cessation

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​Death is rarely a singular event; it is a progressive biological cascade. Whether caused by old age, chronic illness, or sudden trauma, the final pathways of mortality generally follow a predictable trajectory.

​1. The cellular horizon: Senescence and Apoptosis

​Every time a human cell divides, the protective caps at the ends of its chromosomes-telomeres-shorten. Eventually, telomeres become so depleted that the cell can no longer divide safely. It enters senescence (a state of permanent arrest) or triggers apoptosis (programmed cell death). This gradual, systemic loss of cellular renewal is the underlying engine of aging.

​2. The clinical cascade of somatic death

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​When the body can no longer maintain homeostasis, somatic death (the death of the organism as a whole) begins. This occurs in a distinct sequence:

1

Clinical Death

Zero to four minutes

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The heart stops pumping blood, and respiration ceases. While breathing and circulation have ended, the body’s tissues still contain residual oxygen and cellular energy reserves. At this stage, resuscitation is often still possible.

2

Brain Death (Infarction)

Four to six minutes

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Deprived of fresh oxygenated blood, the brain’s highly sensitive neurons begin to starve. Lacking ATP, the brain cells lose their electrical charge, swell, and begin to burst. Permanent, irreversible neurological damage occurs within minutes.

3

Biological Death

Hours to days

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The organs fail entirely. Without central control or blood flow, individual cells throughout the body consume their final energy reserves. Enzymes that once aided digestion begin to break down the body’s own tissues from the inside out, a process known as autolysis.

Part III: The modern collision of life and death

​In the modern era, the boundary between how we live and how we die has blurred. Historically, humanity died primarily from infectious diseases and acute trauma. Today, global mortality is dominated by non-communicable, chronic lifestyle diseases.

Modern Pathology: How we live (the cause) how we die (the result)

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Cardiovascular disease, chronic stress, poor diet, and lack of sleep keep the sympathetic nervous system hyper-activated, damaging blood vessels .Occlusion of coronary arteries leads to myocardial infarction (heart attack) or ischemic stroke.

Metabolic syndrome over nutrition and physical inactivity overwhelm cellular mitochondria, leading to systemic insulin resistance. Multi-organ failure, chronic kidney disease, and severe vascular complications.

Neurodegenerative Disorders Chronic systemic inflammation and sleep deprivation prevent the brain from clearing metabolic waste. Gradual loss of synaptic connections, leading to dementia and the eventual loss of basic autonomic functions.

Conclusion: The unified theory of health

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​Ultimately, how we live directly shapes the path of how we die. The micro-choices of daily existence-how we manage emotional stress, the quality of our rest, our communal connections, and our nutrition-either preserve the integrity of our homeostatic systems or accelerate their decline.

​True medical advancement is shifting away from merely extending the final, frail stages of biological death. Instead, the focus is turning toward optimising our living years-ensuring that the intricate, beautiful machinery of human animation runs smoothly until its natural, quiet conclusion.

By Robert Ekow Grimmond-Thompson

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