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Be Nice!!

Be Nice!!

Her head was buried in her book and so she didn’t see him approach her table. All of a sudden a shadow fell on her pages, causing her to raise her head and there he stood. He wasn’t particularly tall, he had a little goatee that looked as though it had been photoshopped onto his face. He was developing a little potbelly that would be a marvel when it matures but looked like a dilapidated yam mound in his tucked in shirt.

‘Do you mind if I share the table with you?’  He inquired,

Sylvia scanned the filled up restaurant as though he was talking to someone else, looked at him and without uttering a word, continued reading. Zee pulled the chair and sat down and signaled the waitress who brought him a menu which he scanned through. Before he placed his order, he looked towards Sylvia and spoke

‘Hi, can I get you something as a token for invading your space?’

Sylvia chuckled coyly, placed a bookmaker inside the page she was reading, placed the book on the table, gently raised her head and looked Zee directly in the eyes

Excuse me gentleman, did I tell you that I can’t afford anything here? Ooooh I look like a beggar to you eerh? Can’t a lady just be by herself without pervs like you bothering them? Mtcheeeew!!!

Zee was taken aback and embarrassed by her response to his request that he only could fake a sheepish smilein order not to respond in an equal measure, after all he was only trying to be nice after sitting at her table. Not wanting to draw more attention to himself from the other customers, Zee asked the waitress to let him know when a space was available so he could move.

For some strange reason there was no space available when the food Zee had ordered for was ready and so he was served at the table he shared with his ‘rude host’. The aroma of the food was so heavenly that it hit every damn nerve in Sylvia’s nose that her stomach rumbled like thunder. Damn if she had just been a little nice she would have had free lunch from this guy but hey the harm had already been done.  She raised her head and she locked eyes with him for a split of a second then she looked towards the entrance of the restaurant and then scanned the room. She then picked her phone from the table and began texting. After a while she let out a soft and muffled rant and a chuckle. Just then the table next to where they were sitting became free and without hesitation, Sylvia moved to it.

Zee couldn’t help but smile and shake his head at the turn of events. He tried to rerun the turn of events in his mind to see where he was at fault to warrant such a reaction from her but he just couldn’t find any.  He was contemplating approaching her when he was leaving the restaurant and dishing her a piece of his mind. He could feel himself begin to get angry. How dare she? She could’ve pushed Gandhi to violence with her acerbic tongue.  Lost in thoughts as he nibbled on the food in his mouth as he poked the one on the plate with his fork, Zee caught her at the corner of her eye getting up to hug a guy that had just walked in. Probably he might be her boyfriend, he thought to himself.  He smiled to himself mischievously and turned to glance at the gentleman who was being served a rant for being late.

Ooooooh shit! It was he’s university best friend and roommate Dan,

‘1bromo-2trichloro- 4ditwsetane’ he exclaimed!!! Dan turned and upon recognizing it was Zee got up and gave him a heavy handshake and hug amidst a volcanic laughter erupting from both of them.

Kwe agbormor when you land wey you no make I know saf? Charley you make fresh paaa ooooh’.

Daniel took a step back and sized Zee up before giving Zee another hug. At this point everyone in the restaurant was staring at the two who were somehow oblivious to the fact that they were loud.

Daniel then turned to Sylvia whose face had turned as pale as the flesh of an unripe mango and said, ‘Cuz, meet my homeboy Zee, the one you said you were dying to meet.’

 

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2017 in Fiction

 

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Love is Beautiful

Love is Beautiful

Nourish me with the firmness of your breast
As I bury my head in the valley of your beauty’s cleavage
Cause my heart to race with your touch
As you take my breath away with your warm embrace
Then resuscitate me with the taste of your lips
Juggle my thoughts with the swaying of your curvy hips
And let my emotions pendulum as you tickle my fantasies
I want to kiss you deeply with a fevered tongue inside your well of souls
Then drown myself in the pleasure of your womanhood
There I will allow myself to get lost in the scent and taste of  a pure woman
As I devour you without kindness and with my passionate rawness
I can almost hear the sounds of your rhythmic breath
Aroused as you whisper my name beneath the pleasure
Hold on, we are just friends now
But I dream of you as my lover
And so until that time when we can do what lovers do
Let these thoughts be a purgatory of desire

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2017 in Poems

 

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I’m in LOVE with a MARRIED Woman

I’m in LOVE with a MARRIED Woman

If you are reading this, it means two things. One, I need you to understand that there is absolutely nothing you’ll think of me that I have not thought of myself. Two, this might be your truth someday so pay close attention

Now back to the substantive issue. As a child we are taught so many things by our immediate family and people we come in contact with but one of the major things that cannot be taught is how you fall in love and who you fall in love with. So today I’m parading my naked truth through this confessional write up. I’M IN LOVE WITH A MARRIED WOMAN and I want her all to myself. And oooh I made sweet love to her Friday night. Now I am not going to be like the proverbial old lady who blames her walking stick when she falls down so let me just make it clear that I take full responsibilities for my actions and I do not regret it. God knows this is true.

So I met her some five years ago at the mall. She was on a movie date with a friend of mine. As they approached my table at the food court, I could feel my soul drool in love. The black dress she wore enhanced her figure like a magnifying glass. Her calculated steps were so rhythmic that I closed my eyes and nodded to the sound of her footsteps. This my friends, was the first time I had seen a diamond in the flesh.  When we shook hands as we were introduced to one another, I felt a shock wave through my body that made me smile. She also sheepishly smiled back and I was just amazed by her. My friend hooked us up and we became very good friends and talked about everything and nothing. She knew my dreams like they were hers and vice versa. We supported each other through everything that it was clear that were meant to be together. In fact we were in love with each other.  Then she got married.

Was I heartbroken that she was married? Hell no! Don’t get me wrong I have always loved her but you see my love for her is that kind of love that seeks her happiness first whether it is with me or not(You can choose to agree with me or not to I don’t care). All I know is that I was happy that she got married and that was when the relationship between us changed. I became a friend from afar and this worked for us until a month and a half ago. I had stepped out for lunch a few blocks away from my office. As I was about to enter the eatery, I saw a friend’s car at the car park and so I walked towards it and knocked on the windows. He rolled down and shouted my name as he opened the door. We shook hands and burst out into laughter as we insulted each other. Then the passenger door opened and there she was.  She screamed my name and run into my arms. Wow, she looked as beautiful as I remember her. Then after a little chit chat we parted ways.

She called me an hour later and we chatted for thirty minutes. The next day we agreed to have lunch together at a restaurant not far from her office. She was twenty minutes late but I didn’t care. All that mattered was her sitting across the table.  We both ordered, held hands and took turns stroking each other’s hand as we waited for our food. Then she told me how much she was not happy in her marriage and was contemplating a divorce. For about thirty minutes she went on and on about how she wished things were different. About how she felt lonely and lost in the marriage and how each of her trails in the marriage was suffocating her. My heart was broken. I thought she was happy in the marriage. Wow! She was going through all these? We barely touched our food as we were so engrossed in our conversation. Every now and then I would catch people stealing glances at us but we just didn’t care. It got to a point I felt a tear swell under my eye and had to look away so she wouldn’t see it fall. I didn’t want her to think I felt sorry for her. Truth is, silently in my heart I told myself I would do everything possible to make her happy again. Then as though we were set up we both chorused exclamatorily about how we much we missed us. After lunch we decided to walk to her office instead of pick a cab. We held hands as we walked from the restaurant to her office and occasionally giggled because one of us had said something silly. It was fun. I could feel her light up and soar in happiness like a Kongming lantern and my heart felt peaceful. We have been constantly communicating and having regular lunch dates that feel so blissful.

This Friday we both closed from work very early and met up. We first went to her favorite ice cream joint in Osu, We got some ice cream and snacks and we went to my place. We kicked off  our shoes sat on the floor as we watched our favorite movie ‘Brown Sugar’ and ate the ice cream and snacks. Around 7pm we decided that we were going to cook rather than go for dinner at a restaurant. So she changed into one of my t-shirts and we went grocery shopping in the neighborhood. We then decided to walk home than pick a cab home.  We kissed on the street, and people walking by whistled. We were like teenagers who had just fallen in love.  We danced around each other in the kitchen as we cooked dinner and in the course downed a bottle of wine. Dinner was another level of fun. I’m sure my neighbors were wondering whether we were high on something because we giggled throughout dinner. She was happy and so was I. After clearing the dinner table and washing the utensils I left her in the living room to take a shower. Some few minutes later she joined me in the shower and my friends what happened during and after the shower cannot be contained on all the pages of the world.

Dear friends, for the past three years that I have been married to my wife. I had never seen her wake up with the sun rising from her lips. Not even on our honeymoon. Ooooh sorry I forgot to tell you guys earlier that the married woman I’m in love with is my WIFE. Truth is, Love is not just a feeling but also a choice. So I have made the choice to love her and make her happy because she’s made so many sacrifices for me and this marriage. I have also made the choice of seeking her opinion on how to make her happy because a happy wife is a blessing to her husband. I have decide to court my wife as I did before our marriage. I mean treat her like a girlfriend and a wife, take her on dates, buy her gifts, give her attention and be silly with her.  I just one lucky guy to be in love with my best friend. I think there needs to be a verse in the Bible or Koran that states that any man who makes his wife happy will go to heaven.

 
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Posted by on April 2, 2017 in Fiction

 

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Thoughts

Thoughts
Tonight I thought of you
Of how it would feel like
To lay together in the open and let the stars gaze at us
With your head on my chest
Listening to my heart’s soprano
As I run my hand through your hair
Between us, a loud silence that speaks
The language of our untamed love
Tonight I thought of you
Of whether the moon has relayed the message
Of how I miss you
Like a slut misses her period
My mind is pregnant with thoughts of you
This labor of love can be tough at times
So please come deliver me
Come, set my heart at ease
Tomorrow I will think about you
About your beaming smile that the sun carbon copied
I will wonder if you are also thinking about me
If your heart dances and smiles because of me
And whether just like me you drink from our memories’ fountain
I will think of all the things I want to tell you and why
Then conclude that, the best way to do so
Is to love you
s.k.g
 
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Posted by on January 2, 2017 in Poems

 

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Dear Crush

Dear Crush
Dear Crush,
The first time I saw you, time froze and the sun disappeared
Your breathless charm touched me as your radiance spun me
Round and round in a dance of celestial intoxication
You have a body that can make an atheist believe in God
just long enough to say ‘ God damn it! What a beauty!’
and my life which was in black and white images found colour
All of a sudden twinkle twinkle was no longer little
So my heart convulsed and rammed against my breastbone
Exposing itself to you like the buttocks of the morning sun
Stretching itself out of its sheets of clouds
You stole my heart, tucked it in your breast pocket
and there was nothing I could do about it
For I felt it would be safer with you than me
Even my shadow found me unworthy to follow
And so it run after you. Some shadow I have
I told myself you were not from this world
Hell no! How can you?
then I found we had lot in common
You breathe in oxygen just like me
Now! That’s a 4G connection
Dear Crush,
The first time you mentioned my name
I could swear you had converted this sinner into a saint
I felt like that song without punchlines that was a chart topper
Just before I could think of a response, you deflated my joy’s potbelly
When you said ‘Move out of the way’
How could I move when you got me rooted to my spot
Damn! You knew my name
How did it taste on your tongue?
Was it a brew of fresh cinnamon tea from virgin dew with fresh goat milk ?
or was it spicy like a bowl of your favourite palm soup holding fufu hostage?
Did it awaken all your senses?
I imagined your first name dancing next to my last name
so I hang on to the music of your every laughter my ears steals from the wind
As it reverberates through the chambers of my heart
It is rhythm to my soul and a groove to sway to
You’ve got style and good vibes
You are my overtime dance to a slow tune
Call me silly
Throw in irresponsible
Or maybe even mad
Truth is, I just adore you
And If this is blind love, I don’t want to see the light
Dear Crush,
We are now friends
I do not know how it happened but we are
your effect with me is beautiful as a baby’s giggle
Your eyes are the only Christmas lights I love to see all year long
I swear I have kissed you a thousand times in my dreams
You have dragged me to places only angels dream of
I carry your sweet smell with me whenever we hug
Until we meet again and I refill from another hug
I think about you
Like lips think about smiling
Like the sun thinks of shining
Like wind thinks of blowing
Like the stigma thinks of pollen grains
Like pollen grains think of tiny birds
Like birds think of bees
Like bees think of their hives
And like hives think of Honey
Oooh Honey, I think about you once every day
And you never leave my mind
©Selikem T.K Geni 2016
 
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Posted by on June 21, 2016 in Poems

 

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War Song

War Song

Chant your war songs

Beat your war drums

Call out your ‘enemies’

Accuse them of the atrocities you committed

When you spilled the blood of your infant dreams

And let it be the precipitate of the war you wage

 

Chant your war songs

Beat your war drums

Draw your weapons and charge

Chase the shadows of your infant dreams that haunt you

Convince yourself that getting blown like debris in the wind

Is so right because everyone seems to follow the wind’s suit

Then, swear to yourself that being different is a luxury you cannot afford

 

Chant your war songs

Beat your war drums

Display your trophy of self-contempt under the disguise of smiles

Call yourself the phantom slayer and have songs composed for this

Brag about how you were a badass on the battlefield

Grasp for air and pause for dramatic effects as you tell the stories

But behind the scenes curse the fright your own shadow gives you.

 

Chant a new song

Change the rhythm of your drum beat

You have life, there is hope

Reunite with your inner self and chase after the elephants of your dreams

Hunt them with patience, for it is a mother of a beautiful child

Let your imaginations travel far and wide

Because traveling is learning

Refuse to plant your dreams by the roadside

And do not let them eat your food and forget your name

Always remember, no one ever succeeded without making a mistake or two.

Selikem T.K Geni 2016 ©

 
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Posted by on June 13, 2016 in Poems

 

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A tot of my Soul

A tot of my Soul

Two days ago I cried for young girl who had spread her wings as she did the fire dance

For very soon she would wish she could suffocate her flames

because too many men want to stick their hands into her stove

Even before she can learn to harness the power of her flames

Yesterday, I wailed for a young boy who did not know the power of his tongue and hands

He did not believe he had to speak life to his dreams as he builds them with his hands

Rather he grasps at the straws of other people’s dreams

Because he does not recognize the keys to unlock his dreams in his hands

This morning, I saw the pride of a man dragged through the market

With his fellow men lined up at both ends of the street

poking sticks at his dying dignity with charred compassion

which was poured into a gutter so it be washed away with the debris

This afternoon, I saw a mother’s compassion turn cold and ugly

She said the child was not her’s so she could not be his fairy godmother

Not even for a second so humanity could have hope

After all everyone for himself, God for us all

This Evening, I sit and mourn for my generation

Our present stares down on us as though we have a bad youthful marriage

Sons and daughters of warrior kings and queens who mark time rather than move forward

So let me pour out a tot of my soul to you so you gulp it down

Let the syncopation of memories’ heart beat draw you closer to the truth

Let the smell of burnt memories remind us of who we were and are supposed to be

For we are a generation of greatness now struck down by the disease of self-centeredness

What happened to our communal spirit that made us sit very close enough that we touched each others’ needs?

What happened to tearing a soft part of yourself and handing it over to others

Watch as they mold it and hand it over to you better than they found it?

What happened to the good life being the smiles we placed on each others’ faces

And the joy we etched deep in souls?

So let me pour you a tot of my soul to gulp down

Let me make it two and maybe, just maybe you’ll get drank enough

for this poem to resound in the ears of your heart

©Selikem Tenu. K Geni

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on June 3, 2016 in Poems

 

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Who we are

Who we are

This is for the one whose pride now lives at the refuse dump

And is constantly receiving hair cut advice from the vultures

The one whose dignity has been trampled on so many times

its closest relationship is with the patch ground on which it lies

This is for the one who has been told many times that beauty run

in the opposite direction when they first met

and that her ugliness drives the devil to accept Christ as his Lord and personal Savior

This is for the one whose fears have become visions

tied to the cloth of reality

This is for the one who feels lost in the maze of life

And feels his progress is taking him nowhere

This is for you

This is for me

This is for us

Wait!

Stop!

Breathe in!

Breathe out!

Smile!

Relax!

Take a good look at yourself, you are here for a reason

Let self-love be the wind the glides your sail to the land of self-worth

Gather your tools and make love to the fertile soils of your dreams

Let the refuse dump be compost for the flowers of your dreams

to bloom and pour perfume forth on the pestilence of ill advice.

Let your dignity’s domineering shadow be the only thing the patch ground sees

Fuel that light in your heart and let your beauty shine

For you are beautiful than you imagine

And please remember, you are the child of the centipede

Losing a limb will never cripple you.

 
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Posted by on April 29, 2016 in Poems

 

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Hush

Hush

Dedicated to all the Women who are QUIET about their ABUSE
Hush, woman don’t you cry
I am the last person to whom you will say goodbye.
So she cocoons herself in pain she tells no one about

 

Hush Woman don’t cry.
I love you that is why I beat you when you go wrong
I did not pay so much bride price for you to make such flimsy mistakes
So she accepts pain as love and believes she deserves it all.

 

Hush Woman don’t cry
I am the Lord of this house and so my word is final
Any action that contradicts mine deserves punishment
I am your god and you must bow to me
So she worships him out of fear and calls it love

 

Hush Woman don’t cry
You deserve all these, you stupid slut
Don’t even think of leaving me
If you do, I will hunt you down like the rat you are and kill you
This is not a threat, it is an assurance.
So she locks herself up in this doorless jail, believing she is unworthy of true love

 

Do not hush woman, please cry out.
Do not let your silence be where you bury your pain
Good times are not meant to be seasonal
Unlock that shackles in your mind because you deserve every bit of happiness
Break out of that cocoon of pain and fly out spreading those beautiful wings
There is nothing to be ashamed of, so speak out
Before your hush and hidden tears, leads you to the grave

Selikem Tenu K. Geni 2016 ©

 
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Posted by on April 22, 2016 in Poems

 

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Happiness

Happiness

Your gait is a prelude to seduction
Your presence the cause of riots in my emotions
Burning down all the fragments of the walls i have built
You let out the devil in me through the door
And the angel in me sneaks in through the windows
You leave me bare like a naked flame
Burning in the pureness of the moments I confess
Things hitherto I was so oblivious to
Yes I am guilty of the things I now feel
Like a sinner seeking salvation I come to thee
You have become my ministry of Love
And I willingly let you lead me on

Your grace is a prelude to hunger
Your gentleness the cause of a thirst
That makes me long for a deep satisfaction
You make the imp in me repent to a jolly good fellow
And bring me to my knees like Muslims salaaming at sunset
With my unstable countenance protruding like their buttocks
Then i begin to speak in tongues like a priest in trance
I can swear I have seen heaven
Seen the golden streets and paced upon them
I can swear I have walked beyond cloud nine
Swear my foot prints are now etched on the clouds
And experienced real madness in sanity

All my life I have felt you but only for as long as I wanted to
I have been too busy chasing the elusive bird of unknown dreams
Yet each time you find me when all seem like a mirage
You sooth my pains even when I’m stuck in the gallows of self pity
But now the self placed specks have been taken off my eyes
So now I choose you
I choose to strive for the best
I choose to standout and make my mark
I choose to fight for what is right and do what is right
I choose to look beyond obstacles and see success
I choose to live life to it’s fullest
I choose you HAPPINESS

 
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Posted by on January 12, 2016 in Poems

 

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The Ugly Duckling

The Ugly Duckling

Aside the new building that had sprang up in place of the mud house that housed his family, the old neighborhood had not experienced any significant changes. The road was still as dusty as always and Castle du Assiam as they called back in the days still sat on top of the hill casting a menacing shadow on the other houses at the foot of the hill. The new paint work made it stand out like the clean shaven head of a big headed child. Memories began to trickle down Kuuku’s mind and all he could let out was a chuckle. As the taxi wiggled itself up the hill like a pepper worm, it’s body began to vibrate due to the bass from the music blurring out of the house. He remembered how he and his seven other siblings in their old but new dresses will line up at the gate of the Assiams during festive seasons to receive gifts of sweets, biscuits and squash from Mrs. Assiam. He had always admired that woman and it was going to be great seeing her again. He just was not sure if she was going to make him out. As kids he remembered always being the bone of contention between Sika and her friends. There were times he even got ganged up on and beaten by her elder brother Jones and his friends just for being around her. One time it got so bad that, his Mother made him promise to stay away from any of the Assiams after he got home with a torn uniform and had two missing front teeth. Up till date he still remembered what she said that night as she nursed his wounds. ‘Kuu, when the lizard and its cousin the gecko decided to have a party a butterfly must avoid attending it no matter how enticing the invite is.’ Secretly he still maintained the friendship with Sika till she left for the UK after primary six and that was eighteen years ago. When he received a friend request from her two years ago on Facebook, he was not sure whether it was actually her. Even after accepting her friend request it would take him another two months to respond to messages she had sent and that was when their friendship rekindled. Over the next year they skyped almost every day with each other, and exchanged tons of messages via whatsapp. It was as though they were trying to cover lost grounds. Gradually his emotions began to gravitate towards love and so he told her how he felt about her. When she told him she couldn’t be with him, he felt sad but grateful that they were still very good friends. Deep in his heart he wished that things would change between them and was willing to be patient for this to happen. Two days ago, he received a phone call from an unknown local number and it was Sika. She said she had just arrived in Ghana and was inviting him for a party at her father’s house that weekend.

*************************************************************************************

Truth be told Kuuku was not sure whether he was doing the right thing or not. Going to this party meant opening closets he was not ready to open yet but as fate would have it Sika had insisted that he come at all cost because she had something important to tell him. Just as he got out of the taxi a saloon car speed towards him and nearly rammed him into the gate. Then a head pops out from the driver’s side and hauls cusses at him ‘idiot do you think this is your bedroom’. As the car drove past him into the house, Kuuku realized it was Max, the guy who was madly in love with Sika when they were kids. Indeed nothing had changed about his attitude. Smiling coyly to himself Kuuku entered the house and after scanning through the crowd walked to an empty table and sat down. A waiter walked up to him and asked what he cared for. Then a sweet voice gave a response from behind him

‘A mixture of Orange juice and pineapple juice spiced with a shot of vodka will do’ replied Sika to the waiter who was taking Kuuku’s order.

Smiling, Kuuku got up from his chair and hugged her knocking a few glasses off the table. He pulls away from the hug, looks at her from head to toe, signals her to do a three sixty turn and hugs her passionately again

‘God you look so stunning girl. Now I’ve realize how much I have missed you’ he whispered into her ears

Sika was lost in her own world in his arms. He smelled really nice and looked more handsome than she had imagined. Indeed this was the right time to be in his arms. Just then the music went off cutting and blurring out of the speakers was Max’s voice.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Can we now have a speech from the lady of the moment my lovely wife Sika. Sika where are you? We are waiting.’

Wife? Wow! Reality has a way of handing rude awakening to the dreamy ones Kuuku thought to himself. Now everything was making sense. Embarrassed by Max’s attitude, Sika wished the ground would open its mouth and swallow her. What would Kuuku think of her now? As the crowd turned towards her and started clapping, Max rushed to her side and virtually dragged her to the microphone stand. With the microphone now in her hand she looked towards where Kuuku was standing, but he was no longer there. Her heart sunk and her feet began to wobble.

‘Errrm, Ladies and Gentlemen thanks for honoring my invitation. To set the records straight Max is my ex-husband who I think has had a little too much to drink. With that out of the way, Let’s have fun. DJ let the music play.’

Sika dropped the microphone and dashed towards the gate screaming

‘Kuuku! Kuu! Kuuku! Wait! Don’t goooooo…’

Just as she got to the gate she saw a taxi speed off. Overwhelmed by what had happened she broke down in tears. Now she has lost the one true love of her life thanks to Max. Just then she felt a tap on her shoulder she turned and it was Max. She felt like tearing him into pieces and scattering it at the four corners of the earth so that no one could piece him together. There are indeed some devils in one’s life that stick like a shadow.

‘Gosh, please get out of my life. Dear Lord, let this divine representative of stupidity vanish’ she yelled tearfully.

As she walked past him, Max grabbed her arm violently and she flinched in pain, then out of nowhere appeared Kuuku.

‘Charley, let go of her, you are creating a scene’ Kuuku retorted

Sika broke free from Max’s grip and rushed into Kuuku’s arms. Her tears rolled off her beautiful cheeks and hit his chest like pellets from a gun. He could feel a mixture of contradicting emotions emanating from them and somehow felt glad that she indeed had feelings for him that she was no longer willing to hide. Then from nowhere a punch landed squarely on his face from Max. Instinctively he Kuuku also threw a punch in Max’s direction but with Sika stuck in between them, he could not hit the target the way he wanted to. He rushed to Sika’s rescue and virtually picked her from the floor. A small crowd had gathered in front of the house during the scuffle and among them was Mr. Assiam. He signaled Kuuku to bring Sika into the home. As the two love birds walked past him, he smiled. Just then Max made a move towards the house but was stopped by Mr. Assiam.

‘Max, go home! You’ve caused enough mayhem for a night.’ With this said he turned and entered his house.

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2015 in Fiction

 

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Your Beauty

Your Beauty

Tapestry of the finest kente can’t compare
I’m drawn to you like the magic of a satisfactory sigh
Like a snake I dance to the charm of you
You’re the night sky brightened by the stars, I gaze at
Each blink revealing something new and blissful
On the surface you are calm but your depth I’m yet to fathom
You behold me with a pleasing eye, I surfeit with excess of joy
Draw me in the bow of your comfort and shoot me on a journey
Far beyond the mind’s comprehension
It reflects in your smile
It calls from your voice
It resounds in your being
No amount of make-up can conceal it for it’s your true nature
I have died many times
But you raise me up each time with your beauty.
i2LAwXrM

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2015 in Poems

 

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Tell Her

Tell Her

 

When you see her, tell her I am tired

Tired of her running through the paths of my mind

Tell her, her charm’s gait has left indelible prints

That have stained the wings of the birds of my imagination

Etching their wing marks on the clouds as they soar higher than eagles

And glide to places far beyond

One thread for the needle, one love for the heart

We shall sew one fine garment

For the union of our hearts

Tell her that though the body is weak, the spirit is willing

Willing to tame the wild cravings of the body for a greater glory

Of owning the crown of her heart

And making her heart a castle fit for a king, Me.

images 1

When you see her, tell her I await her

On the corner of the street of my heart

Tell her she has knocked me down like a domino

And I’m drowning in her beauty

A beauty that sparks a light in my darkest moments

Like the ripe full moon’s reflection

Caught on the river with the skies lighted with patches

Of the bright bottoms of fireflies that dance to

The heavenly choruses of the toads and crickets

Tell her that though our elders say only a wise person can solve a difficult problem

I need no saving from the this problem

For she is the problem and the answer to the problem

Couple at park.

 

When you see her, tell her I love her

The canoe of my soul was lost on the sea of loneliness

But her virtuousness is the current that gently glides me home

Away from these deep waters of hopelessness

Into the Eden of her grace

Where her gentleness will lock me in a warm embrace

As she revives my soul with the taste of her lips

Tell that she is the only song my heart knows

The only song it will sing

The only food my heart craves for

The gourmet of love I feast on

Oooh Yes! Tell her I’m hers.

Tell her

Tell her I will always love her

imag

 
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Posted by on February 12, 2015 in Poems

 

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OLD SOLDEIR,THE PUNISHER

OLD SOLDEIR,THE PUNISHER

There was a loud hush across the court room as I stepped into the docket to defend myself. I do not remember that last time I smiled, for life had not given me too many chances to do so but here I was smiling sheepishly to the judge as he asked me whether there was anything I had to say before my sentencing since I had opted for no lawyer to defend me during this trail. Aside politicians, lawyers were the next people I loathed with a passion. How they can insist something is white when we all see is as black and still get away with this baffles me. Moreover the more money you have the more convincing your lawyer is and so someone will steal five fingers of plantain and get sentenced to 5 years in prison whilst our politicians steal our monies and go scot free. And so with a little shivery but firm voice these were my words before the sentencing.

‘Your Honor, I can still feel my hand still vibrating from the slap I gave the Member of Parliament on his face that floored him. For some awkward reason the accompanying pain in my knuckles feels sensational. All the anger that has built up within me over the years found an outlet and indeed it was unfortunate that it had to be his face. I can sense the surprise look on your faces but I think it was just the right time to put him in his place. I am old and may not understand your modern ways of life but I will not sit down any longer and see a small boy in the name of politics literally hang the under pants of his mother on a pole, fly it at full mast at the market place with pride, call his father impotent and expect people like me to clap for him. Nonsensical nonsense!! Your honor, pardon my French expression.

Your honor, I have served this country with my sweat and blood. At age 18 I was drafted into the army to go to fight in the world war. My testicles were pinched hard every week for a month to make sure I had no hernia and I was fit for battle before we were shipped of like a tin of sardines. Lives were lost on our way to India by ship and I saw friends’ dead bodies tossed overboard into the sea without paying them homage.

When we got to India, rumours went round among the Indians that we are cannibals, chop people and have tails So when we went to bathe in the streams, people asked us not to take our pants off in case they would be frightened by our tails. I survived all the derogatory names that came as a result of these rumours. In the Burmese jungle there was something we called tiger leech. It’s very small, very thin. If it gets to your body it sucks your blood and get bigger and bigger. So we used a cigarette end or a match on the under of that thing to take its fangs out. But if you don’t do that, but just pull it off, the fangs will stay within your body, rot in your skin and go bad – very bad.’

If you are in a war you forget everything. There was no time to pray. This jungle war was not a child’s play – it was something very dangerous, I have seen friends and acquaintances die with their intestines gushing out as though we are at an abattoir. I have choked on and somehow lost my sense of smell because of my exposure to the stench of burnt decomposing human flesh and lead that tore ones nose away from the freedom of fresh air. Experiencing war makes you a different person. You leave behind every civilian attitude, every gentle attitude that you ever had. You forgot … everything. After the war, they did not let us come home straight away. They gave us two good months, with money, to go to any part of India. It was something to refresh us, to let us come back to a human being. An action I still up till now do not understand.

Your Honor, when I came back, all the remunerations that were to be paid us were never paid. To make matters worse my wife whom I had married before my enlistment left me for Efo Dzidefo the corn mill operator behind the cathedral because she could not stand my screaming at night due to the nightmares. To make myself employable, I worked as a laborer on farms and paid for numerous private teachers to teach me

I have been called hideous names and hear rumours about myself that I knew nothing of and surprises me like a mouse caught in a trap just because of a bait of roasted fish head yet I have never for once reacted violently towards anyone in this community. But alas, your honor, the actions of the MP over the years has become the blisters on the soles of my feet that had dragged patience off my bed. I have seen governments come and go, I have met minister and MPs from different regimes but honestly speaking, the disrespect of this young man who can be my great grandson not only towards me but towards this entire community stinks like the flatulence of a pregnant woman who has had her fair share of boiled beings with egg and washed it down with a snack of ‘wagashi’ and ‘di na ta’ milkshake. Last election he promised to make sure the local LA school was fixed and stocked with the relevant textbook, he promised to make sure the was a scholarship for brilliant students from this village, he promised to fix the road for us and make sure we had good drinking water if we voted him as our MP. Me I do not trust him oooh because aside all the empty promises all he brought to us solicit for our votes was four bars of key soap. Your honor, four bars of keysoap for a community of four hundred people. After he won the elections, ask him when the last time he came here was or whether we have seen the shadows of his promise?

Now that it is time for another election he rides in his big car into this community that breastfed him into who he is, choking us with clouds of dust and comes blinking like a malfunctioning disco watch to solicit for votes.

Your honor if you are working very hard to look after a lean man who says he is a sickling and this man begins to win snoring contests against the plump you at night, then something is wrong somewhere. I do not regret slapping him. At age 88 there are quite a number of thing I regret in life but not slapping the idiot. In fact, If I get the chance again I will slap him or any other politician that takes the citizenry for granted. I am tired of all this nonsense and so your honor If you will sentence me make sure it is to death because at least there I will have my piece of mind.’

 

 

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2014 in Fiction

 

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LOVERS’ MUSING

LOVERS’ MUSING

Accusation

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Yes! I have mad love for this guy

Rumor has it that he has been lying to me

The wise girls have advised me to stay off

But my heart loves the lies because the truth hurts

So I hear he has another lady and I am just a side chick

if so, then I am the perfect missing rib!

The darkness told me the reason why I only see him late at night is because he spends his day with his perfect chick

I heard her once as she passed by my window

She speaks impeccable English!

The scent of her perfume filled my room for about 30 minutes

I knew it was her because I always smell the perfume on him anytime he sneaks into my blanket after she leaves

The click of her heels proves without a doubt that she is strong

But as long as my baby has never mentioned her,

I choose to be pampered with his lies

He once promised to marry me

But since then, he has not mentioned it

Just last week, I heard the birds singing about the 1000 carat diamond ring he proposed with,

But he didn’t fail to touch my body the very night he got engaged

That night he kissed me hard like never before

So I don’t care if he buys her the whole world

I love that fear that stops him from telling me the truth

I know I am irresistible!

I don’t blame him!

That is why he can’t hurt me with the truth.

Keep whispering the lies deep inside my ears…

Let me feel your lying tongue

Let me see your desperate eyes fixed on my body

I want to feel the heat from your body burn mine with your lies!

Never speak the truth… don’t hurt me!

 

RESPONSE

KWEKU  serene-edith-peterson-watson

I’m no cheat, so I wonder why her mind would journey that far?

My heartbeat speaks the truth of what she means to me

So why will I pour bile on this delicacy of true love?

Truth be told, her inner beauty and strength makes it impossible

To find solace in another’s arms

Her physical beauty the song to which day and night dance to

The taste of my name on her lips each time she mutters it under her gentle breath

When we kiss is like fresh unleavened bread dipped in virgin honey on the lips of a hungry soul

It’s true I do have a friend who speaks impeccable English

And I do know her perfume is strong that it resurrects my asthma

But that is nothing compared to Nana Yaa’s lips that make speech blush

And eloquence lose its footing.

Does she for a second know how missing her feels like?

Water becomes tastelessly tasteless and my thoughts refuse to bloom

My heart beats squeal, squeak and the waters from my eyes’ fountains gash out

Yet orchid blossom of my love for her blossoms

So tell me what sort of man will pamper his soul with lies

And still make his heart feel the way I feel about her?

How can I buy her supposed rival the whole world when she, Nana Yaa is my whole world?

So now I fear she wouldn’t see the real essence of what we have.

How can she see past all these lies of the ‘wise’ when she allows her heart to be ruled by an irrelevant cacophony of questions she has the true answers to?

I wish I could quiet all her doubts created by rumors that are nothing but rumors

Gag all the anxiety she feels and let the silence of our love sing

Time is the cloth that binds us to the back of fate

And loyalty is the walking stick that makes our love walk steady.

Tell her she is the rhythm and melody to my music

The only mosquito in my net (please continue biting)

And without her I’m as useless as ‘eue’ without que in spelling QUEUE

 

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Written by Rita Nana Yaa Agyakwa & Selikem Kweku Tenu Geni. (c)

 

 
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Posted by on August 29, 2014 in Poems

 

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My Chronicles 3 (Life of a battered young woman)

My Chronicles 3 (Life of a battered young woman)

PASTOR FRED.

Its crazy how writing about my story with Pastor Fred bothers me a lot but this is a major chapter in my life that I need not over look because at the end of the day, it is my prayer that any of you who finds yourself in this kind of situation will at least know that you are neither the first nor the last to experience this. I have read most of your reactions and I know what most of you feel for me is neither sympathy nor pity. Most of you feel I’m stupid to allow myself go through all these things just like my mother did and there is no way I hold these against you. Somehow, her experiences made her more inclined towards the belief that her problems and my problems in relation to men was more spiritual that psychological hence her decision to introduce to Pastor Fred. Our relationship started out like a lost sheep and a caring shepherd who had found the once priced sheep in the most devastating state and trying everything within his power to restore the sheep to its past glory. With the zeal I was working with in the house of the lord, the Church snatched me up to groom me into a wife, teach me ministry etiquette, and give me face time with my pastor so I could “counsel” with him and make sure my decisions were ran through him before I did anything major in life.

To be frank, Fred was a rock star of a growing church…worshipped by many. He came from a gambling and petty background that fed his appetite for the carnal things according to him. He got “saved” and sought a leadership position and was a very talented guy who rose through the ranks quickly. He was very comfortable in the spotlight and extremely charismatic and he actually seemed like a nice guy on the surface though some have reported he can be a jerk…but so can we all at times. Normally I would not date a baldhead man who had a potbelly, which was competing with his head for attention but getting to know (at least that’s what I thought) him more made his body structure the least of my worries. He has this fashion sense that was on point and very admirable. Most often in my conversations with him, he’d tell me how he felt very blessed and privileged to be ‘saved’ just like certain Bishops and Arch Bishops who had similar backgrounds as his. And most often than not, there was this eternal glow that came from within him and shone in his eyes when he talked about his dream of becoming on of the top Pastors in the country.

Gradually our relationship developed into one of admiration and affection towards each other and since he was not married it felt prudent to start a relationship that will lead to marriage. The initial idea was to practice a no sex before marriage but as ‘body no be firewood’ so we found ourselves shagging left right and center like a maracas in the hands of a charismatic praises leader. At church it was an open secret that Pastor Fred and I were dating and this drew its fair share of admiration and envy but to me this was the life I felt God was preparing me for. Little did I know that there was a huge catch to this when he was exposed hiding behind the veneer that he was something he wasn’t.

It started one Sunday afternoon. I had gone to his place to prepare him lunch and supper as had become the ritual. Half way through preparing the foods I heard a knock on the door. I left everything I was doing, went to open the door only to see an angry looking at the door. When I told her he was not yet back from church after she enquired about his whereabouts, then she half shoved me out of the way as she made her way towards the bedroom. I was confused. Who was this? Was this a family member I did not know? Was this a test to see how humble or rude I was? Ten minutes afterwards Fred came home from church and before I could report to him he speed off to the bedroom. What I saw when I entered the bedroom was indeed more than a shock. Here was Fred on his knees begging the lady for forgiveness and the only response he got were to heavy slaps on both cheeks. When I rushed to defend him, he smacked me on the face and asked that I leave the room. The lady went into the kitchen and dumped all the food I was preparing into the dustbin and walked out. I will later on discover that this was a lady Fred had promised marriage, duped and dumped just two months into our relationship after he verbally assaulted me for coming to his rescue. He called me worthless, stupid, an animal that deserved no mercy and in some instances found a way of even insulting me in his preaching. During mid week service after this incident, told the congregation that the Lord had given him directives that the President of the Youth Ministry, me was to do dry fasting for two weeks in anticipation of a fruitful youth week celebration since as the leader, I needed to be sanctified and holy to lead ‘my people’ during that period.

The straw that broke ‘this camel’s’ back was when he called me an idiot in front of other church members for disagreeing with him on a program line up for the youth ministry of which I was the President. When this was raised at a church leadership meeting he charmed his way out of the truth. In some weird twisted way, the other leaders got sprinkled with fairy dust and it blinded them, and I was deemed as crazy, grabbing for attention, and trying to tear down God’s work.  Certain people who I held in high esteem and confided in them will later on betray me by concocting lies about me to the extent that one Sunday half way through his preaching he stopped and said that the spirit of the lord had directed him to break up with me and also demote me as the president of the youth ministry. According to him there were some ancestral demons that were working through me to bring down the church and that I needed prayers. I was hauled by three strong ushers for the whole church to pray for me when I refused to come forward for prayers when he demanded I do so. After this, I consulted a lawyer friend of mine who agreed to sue Pastor Fred and the church for abuse on my behalf. When the affidavit was served them they went to see my mother to ask me to drop the charges with the promise of reinstating me as a member of the church, president of the youth ministry and fiancée Fred. I found this to be very laughable and told my mother to go tell them that they could offer me the whole world; I would still go ahead to sue them. When the saw that I was not barging, they counter sued me for financial malfeasance and fabricated stories on how I had duped some members of the church. As I write this, the cases are still in court and they do not look like winning anything. Next week I’ll tell you about how everything changed for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on April 11, 2014 in Fiction

 

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My Love Letter to Yvonne Nelson

My Love Letter to Yvonne Nelson

Dear Yvonne Nelson,

This is not the usual love letter you receive that says, you are the only mosquito in my net so bite me or your smile rivals the sun. No, this is a hard core love letter like no other. A love letter that is more about how much money we can make with the gift you have. The truth is that I never for once thought you’d be the first  to receive an letter from me this year,. Anyway happy New Year to you! Where did you spend your Christmas and New Year vacation, Dubia, Nigeria or the UK? As for me I was in Accra and Ho sampling fufu and grasscutter meat but I won’t be surprised if you’ve never tried it in the last 4 or five years. Enough of the fufu business.

I know you do not know me, so please, do not worry your brain trying to figure out where you know me from. I’m not really a fan of Ghanaian films and I’m sure you won’t recognize me as one of those who stare at you on screens.I could have decided to contact Inyanya to deliver this message for me,but I fear he’ll fall short because the guy is so fixated on your waist I’m sure he has a life size dummy of your waist to keep him sane .. What lies in your waist I’m yet to discover(though I’m not interested in that), maybe you can tell me whether it has hydraulics or ball bearings.  Jon Germain would have been my other option but I was told you said, you never had anything to do with him and he was leeching to fame via you

Now, Yvey I know you are wondering why I’m writing you this letter. Well, my main reason for writing you this sweet letter is to tell you that all the people who are bashing you for saying your skin became ‘ripe’ due to your consistent use of Queen’s cocoa butter for the past three years know absolutely nothing about human agriculture. Truth be told, if in three years you could attain this ‘ripeness’ using Queen’s cocoa butter, I suspect in the next six years you’ll become transparent. Then at least we can have the Ghanaian sequel of the movie ‘The Invisible Man’ but this time it will be the ‘Invisible Woman’ starring YVONNE NELSON. I hope you’ll produce it yourself and allow me to direct.

To be honest with you Y-von, saying your beauty  glows like a  firefly all thanks to Queen cocoa butter can be seen as contempt but whether its a dying firefly or a live one is another thing all together.Unlike you, I’ve had the direct opposite of your experience using shea butter over. And so believe me when i say, I have a better understanding of you situation than Apostle Kojo Safo in reverse. I was a complete albino some years ago but the consistent usage of shea butter from the North has reversed my hitherto ‘ripe skin’ to become dark. And I fear I’ll soon become the alternative for nightfall. Traditionally, I’m not someone who makes resolutions but after my experiences last year I have made the decision that by all means necessary I want to make as much money as I can this year. It is for this reason you and I need to sit down so we see how we can see how best we can transplant this idea into plant agriculture so farmers can use Queen’s cocoa butter to ripen fruits like banana, mangoes, pawpaw and tomatoes. Oooooh yes tomatoes are fruits and and classified as berries so please lose that frown on your face. I know what I’m talking about. Just imagine the amount of money we will make providing farmers with the product. Aaarh lest I forget, please do not disclose your supplier to anyone lest they cash in on our preposition. You know Ghanaians, most of the time do not respect copyright.

Last year, you were ranting about how sexy your legs were. With no malice intended can you please let me know the SI for the measurement of sexy legs so I can measure some legs that claim to be in the same category as yours. All I want to do is eliminate any sort of competition. We can actually make some extra cash opening clinics that measure the sexiness of legs in Ghana per your standards and the extend it to the rest of Africa and the world. Our elders say Judge not your beauty by the number of people who look at you, but rather by the number of people who smile at you and you make me smile anytime I think about you. At least that’s what my mind wants me to believe as a fact but the truth is a fact can be the truth or a lie. I’m yet to discover what kind of fact it is though. Do you know the legs are referred to as cassava sticks by some tribes in Ghana? And so literally speaking if your legs were cassava sticks what type would they be? ‘Dis na jus kwesion oooh make you no vex.’

It is said that when a once-beautiful piece of Kente cloth has turned into rags, no one remembers that Kpetoe master weavers wove it.  I believe everyone and everything has beauty in it, however it is how you exhibit this beauty that reflects your true nature. You are indeed a talent and a viable asset to me now and so I advise we act aptly on your discoveries and make money with them.  Babe its all about the cash!

I really look forward to you replying  so please grant me the opportunity of getting to know you better and transacting business with you. Cos like Pae Dea said it Money over Bridges this year.

Your lover to be,

Koku Gator I

 
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Posted by on January 8, 2014 in ARTICLES

 

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Wisdom Of The Old Flaccid Breast

Wisdom Of The Old Flaccid Breast

I must have been 6 months old when Mother left for the city because aside her yearly visits, she was a total stranger to me. Indeed Naana, my old fragile grandmother whose skin wrinkles were like the abomasum of a ruminant was the only mother I knew. Though almost in her late seventies she possessed the strength and grace eight of the best young maidens combined in the village did not match up to. Who my father was, is as a mystery as whether elephants have stretch marks or not. Life to me was all about my grandmother and I. It was out of the norm not to find her sitting at her usual spot when I got home from school. This was where I had to go through everything I was taught in school with her. She would first display her golden brown teeth that shined like freshly roasted dry maize in a grin that I can neither describe as a frown nor a smile and then ask me to pull out a stool from the corner of the veranda. Spreading out my exercise books on her laps, we would go through all I was taught at school for the day. For someone who had not gone beyond standard six, her arithmetic and basic English was impeccable, well let’s just say by the standards of a thirteen year old who was now in class three, in a village school my grandmother had a very high IQ.

I do not know whether it was out of fright or just because I expected her to be sitting there when I got back home that made me scream her name as I run across the compound in search of her. I could feel my heart race like that of a little squirrel that had just escaped from the jaws of a starved hound. My ears folded like ‘wele’ as I tried to block the voices in my head that were narrating the possible scenarios playing tricks on my mind like an out of tune church organ. Just as I made the sharp curve towards the goat pen at the back of out hut still screaming her name, I was brought to a halt be when I heard my name from the main compound.  It was Mother’s.  Now my confusion was as conspicuous as that of a newborn baby when the midwives and everyone smiles at it when it comes out of the womb.  Then Nanaa emerged from within the room, her demeanor something I had never seen in my thirteen my life. Her facial wrinkles all of a sudden had become as deep as gullies caused by the tsunami of thoughts and pain that had engulfed the plains of her mind via the reality of me leaving her. In her deep but calm voice she told me she had packed all my things for me and I was to leave with mother to the city that very afternoon. A part of me wanted to be happy that I was going to the city but who was going to keep her company, who would fetch her water and fire wood, for would cut grass for the goats and take care of the fowls?  Without uttering a word I walked to her, hugged her and began to cry. It was the first time in many years that tears had rolled down my cheeks and this time Naana did not ask me to be a man and stop crying. Together we bathed in the tears and the memories of the times we had together. After a while she pulled me away from the hug and held me by the shoulders.

‘ I know you will do well in the city, never forget the things I taught you. Respect people, be kind to them even when the dislike you, learn as much as you can from your failures, fear God, appreciate life and be thankful to God for everything.’ She said.

I opened my mouth to speak but words failed me. My whole body was shivering like a faded and torn Ghana flag hanging on a pole.  Then my grandmother surprised my mother and I. She pulled out her flaccid breasts and pushed her palm kernel looking nipple into my mouth without any warning.  My head was greeted by a heavy knock from her hard knuckles as I pulled my mouth away.

‘Suck my breast’ she commanded.

Afraid of what was to follow if I refused to do as asked I sucked on her breast. After a few seconds she pulled it out of my mouth.

‘How does it taste?’ she asked

‘It has no milk and so all I tasted was my own saliva.’ I replied.

She looked at me and smiled.

“Life is going to offer you opportunities and some of them will have no taste like a non-lactating flaccid breast like mine. You can use your imagination and believe it is giving you the best milk you’ve ever tasted or choose to just taste your own saliva. You are a man and so life expects a lot more from you.’ She held the base of the cloth around her waist and wiped my face with it. Without saying another word she picked her cutlass and basket and left the house.

 

This was twenty years ago. After living with my prostitute mother for five years at Sodom and Gomorrah in Accra, I was kicked out when she discovered my friends and I rob her clients after they patronize her services hence the derail in her business. I served a three-year jail term for selling Indian hemp (this is another story to tell) and it was during my jail term that I decided to do something positive with my life per my grandmother’s last words to me. When I got out of jail, I did manual works as a laborer on farms and construction sights and went into apprenticeship as a plumber. After completing my apprenticeship I decided to work with my Master until I could establish myself. It was during this period that I had met her. She had come to ask my former boss if he could recommend someone to fix the taps at her new place. My boss told her I was the best person to do the job for her and that is how we became friends and eventually got married and now have three lovely children who are doing great and fighting their own demons.

 

 

 

 

 

 
26 Comments

Posted by on December 17, 2013 in Fiction

 

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With Love From Dzelukope

With Love From Dzelukope

My Lorlor,
I’m highly intoxicated with excruciating excitement to write you this letter, as the brightness of the sun has given me this opportunity to be ‘francofactically’ frank with you on an issue that has had my heart throbbing like drums of an agbadza ensemble.
They say a picture tells 1,000 words but when I look at yours all I see are these 3, I Love You. Yes I love you like a ripe hamattarn pawpaw. The one appatipre’s have not discovered yet ooooh. Shiny like a clean shaven albino’s head that has been oiled a little bit.
Sweetie Pie Pie whether it is meat pie, onion pie or tuna pie you are sweet papaaa. I have not tasted your love yet but in my mind it is sweet. See, me, I stare at your lips and fall in love with the way they form what you say when you talk ooooh. Your awirishrish kotomire is very beautiful like my grandmorda’s freshly painted clay  tripod stove. It cooks sweet tickling sensations in my ears laaa.
Yesterday I saw you buying ayi borbor from Aman). Herh! Aman)’s borbor is sweet ooooh. she know the right amount of dzomi to add to make it red like the new version of Yvonne Nelson. Yvonne Nelson 3.4 and couldn’t help thinking how pleasant it will be to be a fart escaping from your gbigorooo that jiggles like a maracas being played during a pentecostal praises session
Hmmm, I spend every waking moment second guessing my decision to write you this letter and right now I am second guessing my second guessing but no worries ok! Cos even if you don’t love me, I can love the two of us for us.
I love you twiiitwiii like yesterday fufu in 3 day old palm soup.

Yours sincerely,
Sincere Lormnava

*Ayi borbor — Boiled beans

* Gbigoroo— Well endowed buttocks

 
6 Comments

Posted by on October 19, 2013 in Fiction

 

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Open Letter To Ekua

Open Letter To Ekua

Dear Ekua Donkor,

Just like my interactions with Ayariga, we have met but only via my television set and radio. To be honest with you, I have decided to put off my TV anytime you come on not because I hate you but because I’m just not one of your target audiences. You will not really understand this letter to you but I pray you do find a good village teacher who will interpret the content of this letter to you without it losing the essence of the core message. I would have loved to write in a local language but writing for you in Ewe will be like asking you to decipher and interpret the ‘heybalabalalbadlarataaaatata’ tongues of a Charismatic elder during a worship session.  I do like to get personal with people I write letters to by calling them names I feel we will both be comfortable with, so permit me to call you Akua Donkisky or Mama Donkorsky or Donkokua

Mama Donkisky, it is said that, what a man can do a woman can do and even better and you, Madam, are a true epitome of this statement. I have for the past few days tried to understand you but as all men will attest, indeed you can’t understand a woman but  all you have to do is love her.  Now don’t get exited like a caterpillar thrown into fire, for I have no intentions of the kind of love I fear you might think I have for you. You know we buy our pair of slippers from the market according to the size of our feet and you Donkokua, would be an over-zealous over- sized pair of ‘charley wote’ for me.  Your dream of becoming the first non-English speaking Female president of Ghana has indeed gone down in the records books as the biggest African joke of the century and what makes it more pathetic is that you feel being a loud mouth will enhance this cataract vision of yours.

Dankokua, one thing I still can’t figure out is who at all advised you to vie as a presidential candidate? Indeed if I were to be you, I’d rather concentrate on my farming and gun towards winning awards on Farmers day. Unfortunately, your advisers have tactfully become blind as bats to your foolery. The garbage that spews from your mouth like an over flooded Korle makes me wonder whether formal education would have made any difference since some of your age mates who are also not formally educated do hold themselves well in public. Please humor me, which correct thinking Ghanaian would vote for you to become president so that, when CNN calls to interview you during a live feed, you’ll tell them to hold on for you to go to the loo just as you did the other time when you were called into the morning show of OKfm.  It is true you can’t teach an old dog new tricks but to me you are not just an old dog, but an old toothless dog with no experience of cracking the bones of the political mess of this country.

Personally I have nothing against you or your dreams but your blatant refusal to see the fool you are making of yourself. As always the television and radio networks in Ghana who like to celebrate mediocrity will make you feel relevant as the ‘zoomlion borla’ car is to cleanliness.  With the likes of Kofi Wayo, Gen Mosquito, Sir John and Ayariga around, one would have thought that we have had enough of the nonsense we get polluted with day in day out but I must admit Ekua, you do take it to a different level and on a positive side you are encouraging parents to see the relevance of educating the girl child and telling them to apply common sense to their life adventures because even common sense that needs no formal education for its application is not conspicuously present like the gap in your front teeth. Well this is just my opinion and you have a choice to reply or not to. All the same ‘Hersellence Ekua Donkorsky’, Adieus.

Your soon to be friend,

Efo Koku Gator I

 
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Posted by on June 3, 2013 in ARTICLES

 

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