What's my age again?

Two weeks ago I turned 23. A whole year older than Darwin when he set off on HMS Beagle, two years older than Messi when he won his first Balon D’Or, and three years older than Bill Gates when he founded Microsoft.

To face facts, I am edging ever closer to 25 and I don’t like it.

BUT it is not all doom and gloom. In fact, I may only be 18 after all! Perhaps my whole life is still ahead of me after all. Let me explain.

There is a strange phenomenon here known as “football age”. Given the rarity of birth certificates in Ghana and much of Africa, age can end up being irrelevant; post-childhood birthdays may be forgotten, pupils can enter school at any age, and if you are over 30 your age tends to be a secret anyway!

So when a promising young footballer (such as Atsu, recently signed for Chelsea), moves to a European club, no-one notices if they roll back the years and rack up their market value in the process. 19 year-olds become 15, and 15 year olds suddenly become pre-pubescent children. It is an accepted fact. I have met two people who swear blindly than Michael Essien is at least 35, which explains his recent decline – along with Obefemi Martins and Kanu before him.

Birthday meal - plantain and red red (beans)

Despite the apparent confusion, age is extremely important to life here. Elders are given total respect, and the youngest in a family will usually be the one doing the most work. Form 3 students are superior to form 2 students based purely on their year of school entry.

People use “senior” to describe a good or accomplished footballer, and “small boy” for someone unfortunate to make a sloppy error. Experience is valued more than skill.

Time moves differently in Ghana anyway. Einstein could have saved himself a lot of time figuring out Relativity and travelled to Africa instead! In a school day lessons rarely start on time, and lunch can last anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour. Instead of looking up a bus timetable you flag down a “trotro” (minibus) whenever you get lucky and have a sympathetic driver.

Ato, our guide in Accra, warned me that when an African says “soon” he could mean any conceivable amount of time…  an even vaguer version of the Welsh “now, in a minute!”

The only time I have ever seen a Ghanaian rush was a teacher running to catch the start of an Arsenal match.

On Friday the school held a football match: Day students vs. Boarders. The build-up was intense. I played in central midfield – not a sensible idea with the match starting at around midday, so I was limited to sitting back and passing the ball as well as I could over the rough pitch. The match ended 3-3 with the Boarders winning via a penalty shoot-out, by which time I had long since collapsed in a heap on the sidelines. 

Boarders team

My passing, hair and lack of tackling (without wanting to confirm a racial stereotype, these guys are incredibly strong) have led to the nickname I’ve wanted all my life: Paul Scholes. Senior player.