The Hen & the Housewife

All in a Picture

Sorry, I do not know who drew this, but if anybody knows them, I am happy to give credit.

The Hen & the Housewife

Part 3 – No Ordinary Chicken

The chick would wander from the yard
Past the sleeping Alsatian guard
And out there on the scheming street
It learned and studied how to cheat

And when came Christmas time
The chick was in his prime
When the housewife came calling
The now-cock felt up to a brawling

She walked past many a chicken
Until she found her chosen
She brought her big knife out
But it stood up proud and stout

The cock, he pulled a gun
And held her up for fun
There was no chicken soup that year
Instead, her husband killed a deer.

The Hen & the Housewife

Part 2 – Adolescent Chicken

And as the days went by
Father cock, he did try
But the chicks died one ... another
He just couldn’t play mother

And then was left one chick
It survived through thin and thick
Cat, clime, car and crow
Could not deal it death’s blow

It played among the dogs
And preyed upon the frogs
Ate meat instead of grain
It grew again and again

The housewife looked on keenly
And sharpened her knife routinely
She could not wait for Christmas
Chicken soup would be bliss

The Hen & the Housewife

Part 1 - The Day Mother Went

It was before first light
When the chickens awoke in fright
They saw with quivering claw
The housewife at the door

She seized the mother hen
(I think its name was Gwen)
One wife took another wife
In her other hand she held a knife

She dragged her prisoner out
Whose cries were loud and stout
Its wings and legs she bound
And laid it on the ground

It was over in a wink
Between each tear and blink
The father cock, he cried
Must she come each Yuletide?

Poetry Series - The Hen and the Housewife

This week, we will attempt another poetry series. I am not too sure whether it teaches a lesson, but I hope you will still enjoy it.

Poetry: Billing Guide

It's enough to fix that fender
for just twenty or thirty;
that's but a tiny bender.
But, in billing, I'll play dirty;
his Merc is just so purty.

(From the collection - The Pretenders)

White Dress on Rainy Day

You chose to wear a weeny, white muslin dress out on a rainy day. The now-see-through top tells me the skies burst out on you. The muddy splash across the tail tells me you sauntered too near a puddle as a car whizzed by.

I Woke Up in Another Country

 
 

Screen clipping taken: 10/20/2010, 7:36 PM

 
 

Credit: myjoyonline.com

 
 

I keep asking myself: is this

happening in Ghana?

 
 

 
 

Screen clipping taken: 10/20/2010, 7:43 PM

 
 

Credit: ghanaweb.com

 
 

And this?

1000 Reasons not to Pay in the City of Accra

It will suck your brains out of your ears to know what efforts some Accraians make to avoid paying money for services they use. It could be as comical as eating food and refusing to pay because they saw a mite on the side plate. Or it could be car replacement part used for months and rejected as fake after 6. People have devised part payment as part laxative to the payment constipation. So, there might be a wedding whose cake is half-paid-for. From the honeymoon, the bride calls the baker to declare that she did not like hue of purple used, and the newlyweds will not pay the remainder. If you investigate, they’ve also not paid the wedding planner they could ill-afford. I’ve seen pretentious parents engage children’s party services, make the half-payment and pretend to find reasons of poor delivery not to pay the rest. I’ve seen it in legal services, real estate, car hire purchase. Does anybody have any experiences?

An Angel without a Face

A little thought before a media report winnows the wheat from the chaff. I woke up to the gladsome news that Miss Ama Nettey was Miss Malaika 2010. What was missing from the tale was the angel’s snapshot. How do you herald the winner of a beauty pageant without her photograph?

My 10 Little Sins

Plinky asked me to list 10 things that made me happy. It took so long (and was so hard) to go beyond 3. I must have a sad life. Can you get 10? Here are mine below.

Lil Girl
Because she's good for me and understands me more than anybody else.

Writing
Because it is my conduit to my soul.

Being a Lawyer
Because it's made me come to know how society really works (and I can even break some of the rules safely).

Marion
Because she gets me around easily and, let's face it, she is sooooo fine!

Blogging
Because it's practice for writing and has brought me so many friends.

Court Rooms
Because of the witty battles and the permitted aggression.

Cuerpo de Mujer
Well Pablo Neruda said it all:



Body of woman, white hills, white thighs,

you look yourself like a world in your attitude of surrender.

My rough peasant's body digs in you

and makes the son leap from the depths of the earth.

Poetry
Because when you understand it, you understand life.

Swimming
Well, swimming, dance and sex are 3 manifestations of the same passion! (And wherever there's a pool, there's always a flirt!)

Chocolate
It releases that thing with that big scientific name that makes us light in the head and feel good about ourselves.

Prostitutes Don’t Have Friends

At wooded Cantonments in the City of Accra, near the landmark post office, I coasted round her wide-curve hips and on my friendless homeward route. I could not stop to enjoy her because she sold her time and curves. Social rules lie that she cannot be my friend.

The Hausa Koko Seller

On a cold, wet, Adenta night, the Hausa Koko seller!

'Land Guards' in the City of Accra

They fight on the land. They fight for the land. They maim on the land. They maim for the land. They kill on the land. They fight encroachers. They fight claimants. They fight the police. They fight the law. They fight (or snub) the courts. They are the law. They have the guns. They have the support in high places. They have the invisibility. They have the alibi. They have the anonymity. They have the land. They have the drugs. They have the greed. They have the back of the person with the money.

Send Me a Text Message

I’m often locked up in meetings-for-miles or at solemn places where I can’t receive calls. My phone is rigged to reject calls with a message - I’m engaged and can’t pick your call. Can you send a text please? Four times out of five the message alert doesn’t beep. It’s not because they’re loath to disturb (for they can irritate you with redials forever if you ignore the maiden ring). Is it that the calls are usually bagatelle? Or is it that people are just text-timid?

Could We Have Built This Differently?

Could there have been another way? Could there have been another way to build (in) Accra? A way to keep out all the rain and yet keep the rooms cool while it shone? Could we have avoided all the glass and still kept out the flies and birds? Could we have explored mud-brick, wood or something not as dense as concrete? Could we have built around our trees, avoiding the easier choice of scything them down? Could we have kept our water bodies for beauty and ecology? Could we have continued with planning when we finished with Tema? Was Ghana not always meant to look as green and neat as Akosombo? Could we? Couldn’t we?

Too Many Hair Stylists in the City of Accra

East Legon, Accra. But also Madina. And Kaneshie. And Dansoman. Every quarter of Accra is festooned in yellow, blue, green, white, etc of MVP, Revlon, UB and Dark & Lovely. The ads are draped on wooden shacks and wooden kiosks, sandcrete stalls and disused steel sea-freight containers. These are all hair stylists. There are puny hair-styling schools every forty paces and hair stylists every thirty. There cannot be half-enough heads to go all round for business. So what are they training the girls for?

The Creative Parts of Accra

It’s so easy to perch pretty in your tight spot in Accra and ‘enclose’ the economy in Ridge and Osu; Kaneshie and Makola. I’ve recently ‘touristed’ the dustier parts and scanned technology shacks with computers, musical instruments, cameras and boom mics couched behind mechanic yards or ‘chop bars’. Young men mixing audio and video and creating the modern music sounds of Ghana. I totally dig that.

The Empire Which Died in its Sleep

And so the greatest empire formed over the land now called Ghana was brought to a humiliating end without a single rifle shot. I don’t know what to make of it all; of the novel pacifism of its formerly warlike rulers; of the treachery of the ‘enemy’. I mean, Troy had its horse, Rome its hellish decadence, and Germany its ambitious war. But why did this empire not fight? Its name means “because of war”!

The Radio of a Night Watchman

The night watchman's job must be as lonely as death. How often do I see him striding in his give-away clothes with a transistor radio locked down on his shoulder in the oblivion of some overloud treble talk?