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‘Sofi’- The Uncircumcised Curser

‘Sofi’- The Uncircumcised Curser

When a good man is planted in his grave, he does not germinate into a tree to give shade to his loved ones. Today we stand at this cemetery weeping as we lay to rest one of the realest people I have ever known in my entire life. The choir sings melodious tunes as though they we sent down by God himself as part of his disbelief that my dear friend has passed away. People from far and near have come to pay their homage to this great man. Tributes have been poured forth from mouths like water gashing out of the rock Moses struck in the wilderness. Even the President of the country is right here at the cemetery with us. Cameras are clicking and reporters are scribbling things in their notepads. This is indeed the funeral of a national hero. The priest raises his hand and a dead silence falls on the cemetery. Then with the trowel in his hands, he digs into the earth, pours the dirt on the polished oak wood coffin and says

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.

Well, I’m sure if wishes were horses, my friend ‘Sofi’ would wish his funeral was what I described above. But alas, just six of us are present to lay him to rest. The priest who I had to pay to perform the burial rites, the four young men who are the pallbearers, me and his one-eyed dog that looks like offspring of a bow-legged crossed-eyed bitch and one of her stray and starved lovers.  I met ‘Sofi’ as he’s popularly called throughout the village when I was in Middle School form 2. We were just being ourselves that day in the classroom when this man walks into the classroom. He looked dark and hard bodied like a copra that had its husk peeled off the shell and rubbed with a little bit of palm oil. When his shadow fell on the doorway, it was like a sculptured dark cloud had just been dropped right there. He walked in, scanned the room and walked to the empty desk at the back of the class and sat down without uttering a word. We looked at each other’s faces puzzlingly as though the answer to the question of who he was would pop out from someone’s face.  Then our class teacher entered the class and introduced him as our classmate. As the term progressed he and I became friends. I was the brains and he was the muscle. However he’s association with me had absolutely no effect on his intellectualism as he exhibited during one of our technical skills lessons.  A shovel was drawn on the blackboard and he was asked to identify what tool if was. Without hesitation, he shouted ‘Sofi’ with the confidence of a politician who was sure he had won an election and a smile that was like a piece of roasted yam that was puffed open by heat. The whole class erupted into a laughing zoo and thus, the name Sofi was conferred on him

The pursuit and the desire to make my life a better one took me out of the village whilst Sofi remained but whenever I was in town I made it a point to visit him at his home. Six months before his death, I heard that Sofi had won the lottery. It was said that, on the day he cashed in his win, he had a big party at home and had three fat Billy goats killed and prepared. Laughing gourds of foaming palmwine were order from Agbeko the famous tapper and the famous Minamiwoe wanyo boborbor troupe came to perform.  It is said that even the coronation party of the village chief was no match for Sofi’s party. It was under this party that my friend Sofi laid eyes on Dzidedi and like the saying goes, Wine comes in at the mouth and love comes in at the eye. On my next visit to the village, I was told Sofi was getting ready to be married. Which Sofi?  is it the Sofi I know who avoided women as a plague because his love advances was rejected by the young national service teacher posted to our school when we were in form four? How could a forty-eight year old man want to marry a twenty-two year old girl? Weren’t there more mature single women around? Truth be told, when I met Dzidedi, I was awed as though I had just seen the best magic trick performed. Her gait was rhythmic, her buttocks jiggled like that maracas during a charismatic praise session with each step she took and her breast looked firm like two freshly dug yam mounds laying side by side in the loose blouse she wore. And I told myself I understood why Sofi had fallen in love.

I watched in amazement how she came to sit of Sofi’s laps, played with his greying hair, tickled his ear lobes and both giggled. Instinctively I felt there was something weird about the relationship and when Sofi was seeing me off, I told him how I thought it was not a good idea to get married to Dzidedi. One could virtually see fumes coming out Sofi’s ears and nostrils like the exhaust pipe of Busy Boy’s bone shaker that traveled from the village to Ho twice every week. He accused me of being jealous of his success and progress in life and that I had just proven to him that I was not worthy of his friendship. I apologized to him for poking my nose into his affairs and went home.  And that was the last time I saw or spoke to my friend until I saw him hanging from a nylon rope on the huge mango tree at the entrance of the path that led to the farms.

It is said that, Dzidedi and her young lover duped him of his money under the pretense of helping him invest it in some gold business. Then one afternoon, he caught them in bed and when he confronted them, she ridiculed him publicly by calling him a foolish, impotent uncircumcised bed wetter.   Not able to withstand the laughing-stock he had become in the village, Sofi decided to end his life but not before he had walked stark naked from one end of the village to the other with his huge uncircumcised manhood and drooled scrotal sacs dangling left and right as he rained curses on Dzidedi and her lover saying that even the holiest of waters blessed by the Pope and angels would not render the curses impotent.

 
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Posted by on April 25, 2017 in Fiction

 

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Lead Me Not Into Temptation

Lead Me Not Into Temptation

It just occurred to me to me today that we are all hell bound because we are all liars. Sweet bloody liars! The amazing thing is we even smile when we lie. The kind of lie I’m referring to, needs no special skills to execute, it’s just a combination of two or three words. Per my understanding based on my religious upbringing all sins are equal in the eyes of God and carry the same mark though I doubt God has a marking scheme for marking our sins. So just imagine, a common lie sin and a fornication sin carry the same marks. No major sin marks or minor sin marks. All sin be sin! This is as scary as sending a message to your Ewe father who is a soldier or a teacher or a carpenter who has told you countless times that he was always first in class when he was a child that you have failed your exams just as you did the other semester.

So today when I woke up courtesy of my two alarm clocks (the one that only men have and stands perpendicular every morning just to ring and the one on my phone) I had my quiet time and decided not to follow you guys in committing this sin again. To be quite candid with you I had some naughty thoughts that made me feel hanging like an unbalance cocoa scale and to curtail this thought I started reciting the memory verse I learnt this morning. Now as I get to my workplace, I meet some of my colleagues who I shake hands with and walk away to my office. Five minutes after settling in my chair and switching on my laptop,  Ekosiwaa walks in. Now here is a lady colleague and friend who is that one out of many who is not just physically beautiful and hot but also beautiful in terms of character. Secretly almost all the guys in the office crave for her and drool in their minds when they hug her. At times I believe even mosquitos flirt with her before they bite here and when they do it’s so gentle that she feels no pain. With these descriptions I hope the guys reading this are not drooling in their minds and the ladies chuckling to themselves out of a little bit of envy. I would have described her as a lady with a perfect body if her buttocks were a little bit more pronounced than they are. I mean the kind of buttocks that looks like two over flowing balls of fufu placed side by side in an asanka. After lighting up my office with her smile she opens her arm wide for a hug to which I oblige. In the course of hugging her she says‘Koku how are you?’.

As I have already told you I have promised God and myself that I was not going to lie.  Hell no! But then again is she sure she really wants to know how I am? Earlier on I was feeling a little bit horny which is human nature and took measures to curtail it and here I am locked in an embrace like a love padlock from the shrine with a beautiful girl who I sometimes fantasize about and she wants to know how I am. Well with how I was feeling based on the resurgence of my naughty thoughts, it was either she was going to take offense at what I was going to say or laugh it off as a joke. Either ways one of us was going to be hurt and so I just smiled and told her she really didn’t want to know which took her aback.

Let’s be a little honest with ourselves, most of the time we all lie that we are fine when we are asked how we are by people and as I said all liars are hell bound per our religious beliefs. So I beg of you only ask me ‘How are you?’ if you really want to know my true state of mind and body and not because it is a formality because I do not want to be led me into the temptation of telling the commonest lie in the world.

*****If you do not wish to lie , do not answer questions you know, they do not want to know answers to. If there were no questions, there would be no lies.******

 
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Posted by on January 24, 2013 in Rants

 

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Aside

I’m feeling really exhausted today like an old mule placed in a race with foals. My mind seems to be on so many things with no clear cut decision on what to do. I feel trapped and suffocated like a crucified Jesus on a rosary between the huge juicy breasts of a young lady running towards the chapel. Now to be honest this is not the first time I’m feeling this way but I just can’t seem to get myself out of this mood. Some of my friends ( note that I use the word ‘friends’ carelessly in this instance) say I’m no longer caring since I no longer offer them the closure they want. Apparently it hasn’t occurred to them that they are being bloody selfish and haven’t noticed I’m going through some real life changing stuff here. All a brother needs is some space to do some thinking and restructuring in his life. I guess I’ve now discovered the real meaning of being poor. Poverty has nothing to do with money, You are entrenched in poverty if you have people around you who only think of what you can offer them. IMG-20130123-00412[1]

Shit happens and I put it on a Sheet

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2013 in Rants

 

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