The Swinger

Swinging showily down the spruced-up sidewalk of the Ring Road East, just past the Ako-Adjei interchange, in her blue denims, a flimsy, frilly cobalt top and a coffee ‘overtop’, I eyed her as her wonderfully moulded body perked up the streets where the cuckoo crowd clusters not, whether morning, sun or five.

Population Circus in Accra

The homeless hustlers of Accra loathe being counted by the government. They’ve been reckoned once or twice before, but they were not lavished with the loot or nice living. Why should they let you number their foreheads in their open-sky bed-and-bath-rooms? Do you care? They heckle and harangue the head-counters from ‘their’ streets until they ‘heel’ it to the hotels. There, some managers would not let them count the guests. Maybe they aren’t supposed to be there. There’s a census going on. Or did I hear wrong; is it a circus?

Female ‘Bonk’ Workers

A bank is NOT a safe place to keep your valuables chaste. Maybe not in Ghana today, where there’re no jobs for fresh graduates, and those who grab a position (or is it the position which ‘grabs’ them) suffer slavish terms. We’ve always inferred that some banks shanghai their female employees to do ‘a little extra’ banging banking to suck in the moneyed clients. So, while Clients can keep on keeping their gold and diamonds in a bank, young female employees may well lose their Rubies and Pink Sapphires after working hours.

Brains or Beauty?

Would I rather be super intelligent or extremely good looking? It's past 10 p.m. on Sunday, I am tired and sleepy, hating that Monday comes immediately after Sunday and probably not thinking right. It seems to me that it does not matter which one you are, you'd get by and ahead anyway.

Curse of a Chinese Coffin

Colossal China is creeping across the continents, I know. But, for God’s sake, why should Greener Ghana, which vainly values funerals first on the social calendar, import timber caskets from Clayey China?

Go Shoot Togo, Not My House!

To crush and annihilate Togo! I grew up thinking that was what we had the army for. You see, when I was growing up, there was a military junta in charge, and it was not that friendly with Togo. Soldiers strutted on the streets and eyeballed, menaced or slapped fear into the hearts of civilians. Ok, so I also thought the men in green kept civilian discipline.

So I was wrong in some respects. We are now democratic, and our soldiers are stationed straight to ‘blitzkrieg’ deter Togo and other neighbouring countries, or to help in natural and human disasters within the country. Soldiers have sometimes done more than keep the peace within. They have sometimes flexed their muscle in disagreements with us poor civilians.

So, imagine my discomfort when, in these days when the military has cleaned up its image and gained more respect than many state institutions, I read that the military had shot down a pastor’s house because they claimed he’d built it on their land! See the story here.

No Gold Going for a Song

Those 'well-watered' Westerners who strike cyber friendships and business partnerships with West Africans, let me etch this on your minds: there are no gold nuggets glittering, and there is no fairy gold dust winnowing, on the streets; there is no gold bullion in the dingy rooms of faux royal families. Ergo, before your greed eggs you on to wire reckless dollars to criminal cliques in order to earn sky-high returns, won’t you at least take the time to learn about the social and business culture, names and norms?

My Favourite Website

A super gizmo: here’s the libido button, the x-ray vision button, the love-match button, the fart-fixing button, whatever. Got your attention right? My daily life is so choked by tech, I can scarcely pee without something ‘test-tubing’ the levels of something else in me. But it’s not half terrible, is it? Now the point: with so many websites jostling for my 30 minutes, it’s really the BBC which wins my wandering love. What’s yours? (Facebook cannot run in these elections).

Contemptuous Beauty

I just read the phrase “contemptuous beauty” in an old book. I gather it is where the lucky recipient (and temporary borrower) of God’s or Nature’s bounty feels superior to humanity on that fortuitous account alone.

They demand more volumes of breathing air, colder cokes, sleeker cars for cheaper, exclusive rights to wear the sexiest clothes and the only remaining promotion or pay rise for the next 5 years. That’s contemptuous beauty.

I think I just wrote up a benighted beast and not a bedazzling beauty. I see a lot of Contemptuous Beauties in the City of Accra. Oh, until something devastating inevitably happens to burst their beauty bubble.

(Do you remember the drop-dead gorgeous criminal whose lawyer begged against her imprisonment because she was too beautiful to go to jail?)

A Guy with Soft, Curly Hair

I remember a glamorous girl that I laughed and flirted with a long time ago. She figured she fancied guys with soft and curly (Dada B) hair. Her defence was it was for the benefit of her children. So, it must be true that beyond the physical appetite, what strain of genes to pass on to the offspring is subconsciously at play, when a female selects her mate. My friend was mentally swift, and clearly conceived she had enough of the grey matter to pass on. She just desired a man with body muscle and luxuriant locks!

Closet Kung Fu*

Sin #1: Goes to the loo with his cell phone.

Sin #2: Doesn't switch it off or make it mute.

Sin #3: Fails to realise there's an office mate in there.

Sin #4: Begins to grunt and heave to announce the dislodging.

Sin #5: A call comes through while he's pushing and panting.

Sin #6: Dares to pick the call mid-push, as his voice floats out the cubicle.

Sin #7: Through mouth and nose he yells, “Heee-aaaaaaaah, heh-lloooo.”

Sin #8: Denies it was his voice; says it was the ring tone!


*Forgive me, it's Silly Friday.

Give Us More or We’ll Release the Prisoners!

You know we are damned, dead and doubly doomed when wailing warders abandon prison posts and ooze out onto the city streets like plagues and pus to hold the public hostage. It’s true that they may be paid like public peasant slaves, but to threaten to unleash hordes of prisoners on the equally pay-pinched public is to sink integrity beneath a cesspool.

The Arse of the Traffic in the City of Accra

I’ve had it with bailing out of home at Bat Hour and digging in at my desk (after work) until the Witching Hour, all because of the treacherous traffic streaking from the armpits to the arse of Accra. I resent Ghanaian government – the entire gamut of gormless Ghana governments that have made nothing, nada, of tackling the commuters’ conundrum intelligently. Next time a pitiful politician (of any colour) approaches me, I’d welcome them with my middle finger and vote likewise.

Wicked Wednesday – The Irrelevant List Coming

A catalogue of Ghana’s gay MPs will ‘out’ on Wednesday. Why? There was politics in the town of Cape Coast; a jostle for renown between the president and the leader of the opposition. Now, the shit has hit the fan; scurrilous broadsides. One man has been called gay by the other side. He says it’s not true. However, he has information on who’s gay in Ghana’s Parliament. He will expose them on Wednesday. 2010 in Ghana! Our leaders are dabbling ... Do we really want development in the next 300 years?

I Wish I Could Ask Napoleon for Advice

If I could ask any historical person for advice, hmmm, it could be any among hundreds. But, now, I'm thinking of Napoleon Bonaparte. And here's what I'd ask him:

marilyn_monroe_on_vent

You're small; you have riveting eyes; you are aggressive; you're a soldier; is there anything else in your skill bag for spectacular success (we'll talk about the equally spectacular failure later)?



A close second could be Marilyn Monroe, who I'd probably ask, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?"



Who would you pick, and what would you ask them?

Non-Lyrical Mouths, Excuses or Self-Respect?

You know that it's either your game is dead from non-practice, or you settled down a long while ago, when your little nephew (who idolises you in every way) dares you to chat up a pretty girl on a train, and all you think about is your pride and reputation (in a strange country) instead of focusing on the little job at hand.

Menages a Trois - Age is Just a Number

I caught two old black dames on a red bus shamelessly checking out me in a grey 'skin' suit, light blue shirt and a super-sexy tie. They both smiled at me, and one gave the thumbs up they couldn't honestly deny me (tongue in cheek). For 30 minutes, I def walked taller.

Skunks on the Loose

You’re in a crowded place, like on a bus, and the hygiene’s dysfunctional for some of the people around you. Did they not realise at home? Skunks are not repulsed by their own scandalous scent. Maybe humans are the same. They should leave the skunk at home.

Claiming Accra

So, what's in all these names?
The national arena of games
Was first named after Accra
Then renamed for a sports Czar

It was claimed he was not from Accra
So the name-change was a scar
The mayor penned a daring decree
Reverse the name did he!

It happened in the capital
A city no longer ‘local’
Can the group which came here first
Make us bend to its will, coerced?

Vendors with Bells in the City of Accra

Today, I drove past a frowning fat man in a yellow MTN vendor’s vest. He was pitching strips of rubber-sealed phone top-up cards in front of the Palace Hypermarket (what’s that?) on the Spintex Road. Nobody was buying his cards (which must explain his fat fart face). But what really stood him out in the pedlars’ queue was the little black metal bell in his right hand – a now-not-so-common selling aid. With tiny twitches of his wrist, his three-clang cadence compelled attention to his common cards.