Thursday, February 4, 2010

Terror on the Pole


I’m really hoping to go to Ghana this summer with the girls. I’m in the midst of looking for a Twi teacher to help them assimilate a little bit better, and have been plying them with plantain and stew so that they can appreciate good Ghanaian cooking when it comes across their plates. Their immersion into Ghanaian culture is nearly done, with only one thing alluding me: the money for the plane ticket.

Conservatively, the price for the girls and I to travel to Ghana in the summer will be close to $3,000. I make $8 at my part time job where I work 8 hours a week, so it will take me about 4 years to save up the money for our vacation. This, my friends, in unacceptable. It has become increasingly apparent that I must take matters into the palms of my mommy hands and do the unthinkable: I must dance for money.

Adwoa and I discussed it this evening, and detailed the chain of events which are to take place. A svelte and leggy girl steps off the stage after gracefully enthralling the male viewers in the audience with a seductive dance. They enthusiastically throw $1 bills at her as she finishes her number. Suddenly, the room gets a little darker and the trembling voice of the club owner announces that there will be a special treat this evening: Post-partum Delight.

Taking my cue, I shuffle onto the stage in green granny panties and a nursing bra. As the speakers blare a catchy techno tune, I try in vain to heft my jiggly frame, riddled with stretch marks up the pole. Half way up, I give up and drop to the floor in defeat, sweat pouring from my brow. The next part of my routine is to expose my right nipple from its harness, also chapped from years or nursing, to please the crowd. The audience gasps—whether in horror or delight I cannot tell. I’m too busy thinking of how to end the routine and do not bother to reconnect the bra.

My bare breast hangs lifelessly as I maneuver around the stage. For my finale, I roll vigorously on the stage, as if I’m having a seizure. After failing to spin on my back like that chick in Flash Dance, the whole routine ends with a half split. The music stops and another dancer has to help me off the stage. I wait expectantly on the stage’s end for my tips. I get $3.00 from a sympathetic viewer who begs me never to return their again as he drops the singles into the strap of my nursing bra.

Undeterred and undaunted, I vow to return again and again, until I have made the $3,000 needed to ferry my children to the land of my birth. At $3.00 a dance, I would only have to disgrace myself 1000 times to earn the needed amount.

If you want to prevent this tragedy from happening, feel free to send me your loose change to add to the Back to Africa Fund…or you can pray for a miracle.

About our contributor:
Malaka Gyekye is a “hybrid Ghanaian” who lives in Roswell, GA, with her husband, Marshall, and their three kids—the very dramatic and inquisitive Nadjah; the rambunctious Aya; and the "too-sleepy-to-tell-what-disposition-he-may-have-yet" Stone. Having been laid off five times since graduating in 2000, Malaka has given up the pursuit of a stable corporate gig to be a devoted full-time mother. In lieu of drinking, she uses her spare time to write for, Africa’s version of The Onion. Find more of her hilarious musings on her blog, Mind of Malaka: Motherhood. Marriage. Madness.

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  1. Absolutely hilarious, Ms. Gyekye! :) Honestly, you were writing about me, weren't you? Sadly, this is the only way I will get to Ethiopia with my children as well, and my chances of collecting $3.00 in my bra are slim to none.

    Thanks so much for the much needed chuckle, from a fellow full time mom.

  2. Everybody: You should know that Malaka is a certified F.O.O.L.! She sent this piece to me a few days ago, with the express purpose of making me giggle; I appreciated the early morning laugh, and cracked up well into the day over it. I know you will, too. Enjoy!

  3. Yes, Verbenabeth. I wrote this piece with you expressly in mind - and it was I that stole your tips in the club that night. I'm sorry. Ethiopia is further than Ghana, and to be sure, you WILL have a harder time earning that ticket money than I will. Let me know where I can mail the $1.75 I jacked you for. :)

    @Denene! Gosh. I guess I can add that to my list of titles: Mother. Lover. Certified F.O.O.L. Haha! Glad to share laugh.

  4. Okay, you know what? Why did Malaka make me spray smoothie through my nose and onto my laptop in a fit of laughter?!! That was beautifully written! I was so there, hands glued to eyes, trying not to watch, but needing to see how it would end. Honey, after two children and years of breastfeeding, I.Feel.You!! *Sending prayers, and contemplating sending $3.00 via Denene*

  5. ROFLMBO!!!!

    This is just what I needed! Too funny!


  6. OMG...LOL...too funny...Pole Dancing aint no joke! No, I'm not a "dancer", but tried my hand (and legs) at the pole at a bachelorette party a few months back, and OMG, I have to give it up to the pro's...It's HARD work. I have solemnly vowed not to ever bad mouth a "dancer" again.

    I hope you can collect/earn your $3K so you and your babies can take your dream trip!


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