Incredible Math

My math was never up to scratch so rather than argue with my betters, I guess I better work their formulas through and hope for enlightenment. Right, so here goes.

Problem 1

An under- aged girl who gets married becomes an adult (who can renounce her citizenship). The legal age of an adult is 18 years; F stands for female; M stands for married person; MF stands for married female. 

Solution:

If;

M + F = MF = Adult = 18 ≥ year old

Then;

A day old MF = 18 ≥ year old

1 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

2year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

3year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

4year old MF= 18 ≥ year old

5year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

6year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

7year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

8 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

9 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

10 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

11 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

12 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

13 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

14 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

15 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

16 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

17 year old MF = 18 ≥ year old

And;

An MF may vote; have sex; make babies; contract; get a job. Perhaps be a parliamentarian and sit in the Nigerian Senate?

Problem 2

When the legal marital age is increased from 18years to 23years, population growth will reduce. The legal age of an adult is 18 years; minimum age of marriage in Ghana is 18 years; legal age for consent to sex is 16 years.

Solution:

 If;

Any person of 16 years and above can engage (legally) in sex and sex leads to possible pregnancy and child birth and there is no legal age barrier for child-bearing,

Then;

Statistics on births include births by persons below 18 years of age already. Also child bearing does not depend on marital status.

But a few unknowns persist;

• In which age groups do women/ females having babies fall?
• What are the marital statuses of women/ females giving birth?
• What accounts for the high birth rates?

Conclusion; 
Increase in marriage age will have no effect on population growth unless only married females give birth in Ghana

Relatively painless exercise, I think?

Cover Girl

Her physical features are artistically accurate. Her skin is flawless, her teeth white, her nails manicured. She wears a daring and unflinching gaze. She will not budge in the storm nor will she squint at the scorching sun. Her posture and composure are intact at all times. Sexy and demure all at once. She exudes confidence, beauty, strength, accomplishment, courage. In her silence no gap is created. Cover Girl is the very epitome of perfection.

I long to be Cover Girl but I know that is only a dream. See, Cover Girl knows no seasons but I do. My seasons are many; seasons of laughter, grief, weakness, struggle, even madness and a few others. They come when the winds change direction. Cover Girl never changes but I am almost assuredly unpredictable. I am strong most of the time but sometimes I cannot be strong; sometimes I just don’t want to be strong. Sometimes I feel that spasm of pain; it makes me cry. When I smile it’s because I am truly content not because the camera is clicking.  

I will never be Cover Girl. I really don’t want to be Cover Girl. The very thought of being perfect is frightening. Yet still I can't help admiring her. 

Courtesy vibesmachine.com

My First Salsa Lesson

I finally made it to my first salsa class. Learning the s-a-a-l-sa had been on my mind for a while now; just couldn’t find the time and space. 

With the aura of enchantment, romance, liberation, enjoyment, exercise, laughter and I sense, a measure of recklessness about it, many looking for an alternative medium for social networking and entertainment in Ghana seem drawn to it in recent years – me included.  I also wanted to make up for my waning desire to keep up with pop dances that I would have mastered in my youth. Having missed classes at my mother’s ballroom dance club when I was younger and there being no Highlife dance class I know of, salsa it had to be. And so it was, last night. 

First unexpected lecture was offered by the security man at the car park even before I got out of my car! He guessed I was there for salsa; he could just sense it. That troubled me a bit. I certainly didn’t want to appear to be out hunting anything. Anyway he proceeded to tell me that he did not like the salsa dance at all. Normally I should have pointed out that that was his friggin business, but he was a nice old man so I let him. “The dance seems to have no boundaries” he said; “dancing couples are all over each other, you know, touching, pressing, holding each other and they don’t stick to one partner!’. Then he asked me to imagine a married woman, say his wife, dancing salsa with another man - his hands all over her. All these questions and statements came with hand gestures and facial expressions of distrust.

Off course I couldn’t imagine his wife and I didn’t know what to say so I said, “really?” He looked at me incredulously and said, “what do you think, when people hold each other around the waist from behind, facing each other, will their chests not meet?” he said this holding his own chest and looking imploringly at me.

I couldn’t tell if he was trying to encourage me to change my mind about salsa but at that point I was both amused and excited about the prospects of salsa dancing, thanks to his eye opener! I shook my head at him and smiled as if to say I understood entirely where he was coming from and told him, it was my first time.  I would like to find out a few things for myself.

But before letting me go, my new-found teacher informed me that salsa nights went on till midnight so if it was my intention to give him something small (that is a tip) I had better do that right away because he wasn’t going to be around after 11pm.  I assured him I wasn’t going to stay that long and left him to watch my car.

I learnt 5 salsa dance moves, twirled around some, danced with more than 5 men in an hour, missed some steps, lost my way a couple of times on the dance floor, marveled at the girl with the big bum and tiny waist float around like in a trance. When the one hour lesson was done, I danced a bit more with the instructor who thought I had a good sense of rhythm and I thought it was relatively easier to follow his lead.  There was some touching, naturally. No pressing and no squeezing, just yet. No one tried to get fresh. The otherwise handsome mixed race guy dumped his daughter for me, complaining that the poor little girl was not taking his lead. Big mistake!

So what can I say? It was new, it was interesting, I didn't stay late but I shall return, I guess.