Just one pageant probably plays per night – pick whenever –
in the city of Accra. Performers pitch bruising background battles to snatch a
slot in the spectacle. Fiercer flashpoints erupt everywhere when fatuous awards
are arriving. Every flippant, flippety-flop figures that ‘four or five
figurines will be fine for me.’ Why, then, do performers pretend to pool
together with one positive purpose?
