A short history of sadness
The Documentary Podcast
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Ghana and Sadness
Saturday afternoons are for burying the dead in towns they called home. We wear black and red to mourn so when you're dipped in it from hair to toe and not no longer means good morning, it becomes a condulance. The crease the forehead wears sponsored by an hour long torture riot should have lasted 23 minutes. How frequent our jaws swing low at living expenses we have ready for cursed drivers on bad roads. But when the mask slips off it's all sadness. I asked Amma to write a poem for me on Ghana and sadness.
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Transcript
