So because I know the first question is going to be about my blog name Cornelia Principal, I thought I’d save you the hassle of asking why. Principal is because that’s what I do…I’m a teacher-Principal, running school…and loving it. Cornelia?

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When we were young, and this, everyone says We had such hope and felt no pain Life stretched before us in such awesome beauty We raced to find it, oblivious to our frailty But now we’re older and really, Just a little bit older The racing, the dashing, the rushing seems Much unfounded and un- […]

Christmas… It’s warm outside and there’s no snow My thoughts are all of the pictures we know Children caroling, hands in mitts Dark starry nights and stars you can’t miss Hot chocolate by the fireside, stockings all filled Toes curling…   I look outside and all is still There’s not a sound, not even a […]

#StorymojaFestGH16  has come to Ghana for the first time ever, through the incredible efforts of Afetsi Awoonor in honour of his late father Professor Kofi Awoonor. Professor Awoonor was an author and poet who was killed in the Al Shabbaab terrorist bombings in Nairobi in 2013. Creative writing is of course a huge part of […]

I’m finally done writing something I started over the summer. I can’t say much about it now – it feels a bit raw and I need to sleep over it but I’m so very excited to have finished it. I know it’s annoying to be reading this when I can’t tell you much more but […]

According to UNESCO, 42% of African school children will drop out
before end of primary school – highest drop out rate in the world. I wonder why no one has been arrested for teaching badly…

I hadn’t meant to write tonight. I’ve been so swamped and have felt like I just couldn’t handle blogging after an incredibly busy day and then this evening, something happened that gave me the energy…from an unlikely quarter. I’ve been sending out emails to the parent community at GIS and every so often, someone writes […]

A friend read the first draft of a novel I was writing called ‘Serwa Akoto’s Diary’ and made an acute observation; (try to say this with an African accent)
“Ei, be careful ohhhh….you always have this strong, no nonsense type woman in all your stories ohhhhhh!”
As if that’s a bad thing, I retort. Why not write about the strength of a woman? Why not show how deeply women think about themselves, their men, their children and their lives?

“Are you bothered by the fact that you would be the first black professor we’ve ever had on this campus?”
Hell Yeah. I was now very bothered. And I think I was ashamed to admit that I was not as strong as I thought I was.

That night, I had a dream. A really short dream actually. In it, my hair was a short Afro and I had a hair band pushing it backwards. That was it. I was doing nothing. I was saying nothing. I just saw myself with a short black Afro. I can’t imagine how that made up seven hours of sleep but that’s not the point. I woke the next morning and turned to my husband…

I added that they’d know they’d passed if while supervising their teaching practice, they reduced me to tears. I didn’t realize how easy it would be.