The Kumasi I Saw

Kiz and I took a rugged road trip through the airy Aburi Mountains and not-so-novel New Juabeng, through the king-size Kwahu Highlands and Asante-Akyem to Kumasi (the second city). I may employ next week reliving the experience through my posts. But, to summarise it all here, the Kumasi I saw was weather-cool, traffic-light, better-roads, bigger-average-booty compared to Accra. Plus, there was chow aplenty. But Kumasi has probably more streetwalkers, more BO in polished places, less or no English, and precious little unleaded fuel (or knowledge about it). But nothing I have seen compares to the nighttime Bantama streets, nothing!

Two by Two

From my collection 'Amour Propre'

Two by two they slept that night
When the sky threw down her tears
And swathed the heart in a prickly cold
Chest to chest; arms around body
Their spirits tamed the unfriendly chill
Two by two they walked that night
When the wind pierced through their clothes
And formed death’s layer under the skin
Shivers begged for heat to touch
The frost stood tall and fiercer still
Two by two they kept the night
But one stayed lone to write a sad song.

Crool Black

The lack of light cuts clean, slim lines on the wearer’s frame. It recites racy elegance and calm confidence. It speaks of no need for silly frills to feel cool! But it also denotes death, buried sadness and tears. It is morbid, funereal. It is cruel. But when you put on black, questions fly at you: what is the tragedy? So, in Ghana, Black is crool (cruel + cool).

Is Hiplife Played Out?

It exploded on the scene, and mopped the floor with doddering Highlife. A social invasion of beaches and homes, ‘concerto-conference’ halls and cars, it lured mad crowds to its Low-Fi gigs, and forged its own vibrant ‘inside’ culture.

Now, it appears played out. Hiplife practitioners serve twice-told tales in the same humdrum, borrowed beats of ancient global chart toppers. As with all fads in Ghana that quickly fizzle into thin air, Hiplife is creeping and crawling tired.

Gari Fortor

Crisp, chewy, pan-roasted manioc granules softened and textured with a little oil. ‘Savouried’ with a dash of all your favourite spices. Balance-dieted with vegetables and fish or lamb or chicken. ‘Varietied’ up with kibbled Kelewele. Set down beside a cool, tall drink. Please, please, stop! I’m already dreaming of lunch at 6 a.m.

$20 Million to stand on

A female friend suggests sombrely that short men wrestle with more chimera challenges in finding true mates than almost anybody else. The cutting reality is that women on natural stilts will not have little men. Another, says she, is that compact women won’t want sawn-off men for fear of spawning imps and elves.. It is a selective science to save your sons the hardship of moneyless mate-finding (true love). My friend feels that a short man needs $20 million to literally stand on, before he should be ‘seen’ by a woman.

Sweet Mother, What It Look Like?

I was hanging out with my friend, Gee Oh, at the Golden Tulip Hotel’s swimming pool at the gloaming, and rationing on their best effort at Italian cuisine. A live band was keeping time on the same half-dozen rehearsed songs in changing cadences. We were challenging each other to a dance, when the band started “Sweet Mother”, but Gee Oh changed her suiting mind because people might have thought that she was my mother, although she looks pretty youngish herself. So, I was just wondering: does it matter what people think?

Forgiving! Unforgiving! And Proud of it!

My radiant birthday - I’m fuzzy-filled with la dolce vita of love lavished by my warm, wonderful friends, and I’ve been fairy-floating on a cloud. All the keen kindness means a lot to me, coming after the cruel coming of this year.

On my birthday, I always look back to all the despised persons that I’m holding something – anything – hideous against, and I fondly forgive them. I let it go. I did the same this morning. So, officially, I’m loving everybody freely.

BUT NOT THE SMOOTH-FACED SHE DEVIL! I hate her, I hate her, I hell-hate her! I still hope she comes to no good end. I will not forgive her. I so wish she had not called me today. But, then, I spat on her false birthday wishes!

Wednesday, I Love You

I love Wednesday. Because Kiz and I like to hang out on weeknights (so why not Wednesday?) Then there's all those crowded weekends at all the fun places, and I'm a crowd-hater. Maybe it's because Monday's long gone, and Friday's finger-flirting with me from a fraudulent distance. Or because, by Wednesday, I've really got into the groove of the working week. Maybe it's because of that pair of Delilah-licious, luscious legs that lap-dance beneath my office window, at 5 O'clock, every Wednesday.

Nice to meet you. Who are you?

This is earnest embarrassing and not very 'pc', but whenever I meet someone for the very first time, I usually want to know something scandalous about them. I mean prison-scandalous, sexual-scandalous, integrity-scandalous, profession-scandalous, snobbery-scandalous, bigotry-scandalous, etc, etc.



It is not to hold it, nurture it, warp it, hide it, and let it out at a deviously damaging time. It is just to feed fat my human curiosity, and the belief that there's no closet without skeleton. Of course, for the average person that I meet, the locker is disappointingly as clean as a whistle.

20 Years for Big Feet

In our early days as lawyers, Kiz and I were compelled to defend a man charged with robbery. We fancied that we were smarter than the State prosecutors, and that we would get him off on smarts alone.

Now, the accused person was a giant of a man, who topped something like 6 feet 7 inches. He stood tall and proud, despite our advice to slouch a bit. Boy, did he look menacing! In spite of that, we could tell that we were winning. We were connecting with the jury by the manner in which we were 'destroying' the prosecution witnesses one by one.

One witness, though, was irrepressible. She recounted how her family was made to lie face down, in order not to be able to recognise the robbers by face later on. But, that turned out to be a tragic mistake. The witness remembered that the lead robber had huge, huge, bare feet.

As if hypnotized, everybody (judge, lawyers, jurors, clerks, and the onlooking public) turned to look at our client's feet. They were enormous! And he had no shoes on! Thankfully, he got 20 years or so!

Random Questions

Could the AG quit criticising every court ruling?
Why wasn't Taiwan's murderous mudslide foreseen?
Can the alive Mehsud please stand up?
Could we all spare a thought for Aung San Suu Kyi?

Poisoned Chocolate

Imagine that A keeps a bar of poisoned choc in a fridge he uses together with B, C and D. One of them gleefully gobbles the toxic confectionary without leave, and drops dead. Forget the law. Is the bigger moral issue that A intentionally placed the death-dealing choc in the common fridge, or is it the fatal dishonesty of the chocolate-pinching corpse?

Panadian Cassport

Yes, it is the totally talented Office Female #2, again! A serial killer of the lovely language, English. Reflecting on the lofty level of vampire violence she does to speaking the Victorian Vernacular, she should be guilty of grammar-genocide. She was just telling me about this frivolous fille who only married a mean man because he had a Panadian Cassport!

Friends Who Come Shopping

A naked and hungry fridge stood whingeing in my kitchen after a marauding cousin’s visit. I made my woozy protests here. Office Female #1 and I were Texas-bragging today about the newfangled gizmos we each had at home. After tidily trapping me to name all the thriftless, twentieth-century toys that I did not truly own, she laughed and teased that I’d obviously not heard about the quickly-coming concept of going shopping in a friend’s house.

Talk Airtime

Office Female Number Two
Gets more confused than me and you

She buys airtime for her cell phone
While reviewing a corporate loan

She lifts the handset to the land line
With dialogue, she tries to combine

We thought she was going to make a call
But what came next was a shock to all

One by one, the buttons are hit
She 'loads' the land phone with call credit!

Life – Breast-Savers

Breasts save lives. It’s official, oddly enough. It wafts from the wonderful WHO. Okay, when I walked the wickedly-promising article, it was tediously talking up the breastfeeding of babies; it may save their lives in medical emergencies. But I failed to glean those paediatrics from glancing at the caption (or did I pretend?). I was foraging for proof positive that the liberal, gleeful, dealing in breastices, by adults, would soundly secure safety or satisfaction in other urgencies. But, I’m just senseless silly. But am I the only one? Did you realise that the title of this post should properly be: Breasts – Lifesavers?

Knowing Mensah

Friend: Wow, 10 years! Thought you'd never come back to your wife!
The Man: I said I'd come back, didn't I?

Friend: Yes, you did. Are you really back to stay?
The Man: That I am, after all, I've seen it all!

Friend: So, what have you seen?
The Man: Bush the Second and Obama; the Statue of Liberty!

Friend: Impressive. But, do you know Mensah?
The Man: Listen, I've even had tea with Gordon Brown; met the Dalai Lama!

Friend: But, do you know Mensah?
The Man: What don't you get? I've met Nobel Prize winners and Hollywood Stars!

Friend: And, yet, you don't even know Mensah!
The Man: Who the hell is Mensah?

Friend: Your wife's lover for the past 10 years! You haven't seen it all, have you?

The Greatest Pain of All

Setting: In a commuter bus...

Woman #1: We suffer the worst pain...

Woman #2: The men have all the fun with us...

Woman #1: Then, they get up and go...

Woman #2: And there's the birth thing...

(A man turns around, irritated by their chatter)

Man: Don't be silly. Have you ever sat on your balls?

My Personal Postscript: Have you ever had blue balls :(

Restroom Revulsions

Museum moments in a public restroom. A prehistoric idiot is ‘fossiled’ in a cave cubicle, doing necessity number 2, and rudely receiving a phone call at the same sordid time! A stone-age dolt shuffles in. He accomplishes necessity number 1 in short seconds, and swings straight for the exit. As he rounds the doorway, he wipes what would be wetness on his charcoal trousers!