Quasimodo dies in the City of Accra

Ghanaian old wives’ tales will tickle me to tantrums on any given day. Whooping and living it up with Kiz, his Barbs and Lil Girl on a muggy, grey Saturday, the gloomy, gravid clouds gave way, and, then, they gave us rain. I had just been observing to Kiz that the Adenta sun seemed the most fiery in Accra; almost vile and volcanic. Outside, it was splashing and slopping cats and dogs, but the sun still shone through. Kiz chirruped that a hunchback had just died! I was rallying to be horrified, when Barbs confirmed that Kiz was only flipping folklore on its head. A traditional belief, wow! The rain let up for a while. Guess what was said next, in jest, when, presently, the Sun-Rain came down again: Wow, they bury them fast these days! He’s funny, my friend.