Shoppers’ Shame

With just a bottle of body lotion in our hand, Lil Girl and I chose the shortest queue. It was not to be the quickest. A lost-looking man and his paying wife had bought a thousand little things which took some tallying. When the shop assistant said “175 Ghana Cedis”, he took off his purely gentrifying glasses, and checked the screen of the register himself. He broke into sweat for his wife had just 135. Between turning away and searching her frowning face, he spent two minutes looking like an Ass, and wasting our time (well, he did not, for everyone in the queue was laughing hard and freely). I’ll never understand two things. Why could they not do a rough tally of prices? Why could they not take out stuff when the amount was too high? After a while, he took a note from this pocket and another from that pocket until he got the 400. And then they slunk out of there, surely vowing never to return (or at least not with each other).

The Lies of Talent Shows

I read an article somewhere that Ghanaian comedian David Oscar couldn’t laugh even if tickled by a girl with a donkey face and tail, and callused human hands. It said that he approaches his stagecraft with similar sterility. I’ve seen him once or twice. He was painful, artificial. He did not even crease the corners of my mouth (unless you count my wincing).

It’s got me thinking about talent shows. It was such a contest that unearthed buried David in the limelight, although both he and the audience had Botox faces every week for nine. It’s been downright downhill since then. The question: do you have talent because so-called talent judges on a sponsorship-selling TV show say you do? Or must your work plead its own case?

As for David, I think the article writer was too hard on him. He does have a funny face when he appears on stage and begins to look self-important. If only he would hold it there and prance about without uttering a word!

Garbage Politics

Does politics mean we are fools? That we believe anything? So there is a cadre of the opposition take time out to litter the city with rubbish? RUBBISH!

Ghana News :: NDC organiser blames detractors for garbage in Accra ::: Breaking News | News in Ghana | politics

Travel Warning – Ghana

No need to take too much care. In fact, you can nearly be reckless. It is still safer than most other countries. There are fewer attacks here. I have lived here all my life. I have not come within a country mile of being attacked by those undesirables. I’m talking about stray animals, ghosts, robbers, murderers and rapists in (con)descending order. So, please visit. It is warm (in people and weather) and as safe as a baby’s smile.

Sexuality in Football

African Women’s Football Championships. Equatorial Guinea quashes the Queens from Ghana. The Queens (beaten black-and-blue) impute titanic testosterone levels to ‘at least 3 members’ of the other team. You’d imagine they were ‘boobless’, pas-derriere, knobbly-kneed, square-jawed and slightly-too-smelly, marauding male beasts in the park.

I like women. I wish I could play with them all the time. Football, wrestling, swimming, rugby, badmingling – sorry badminton :-) - whatever. Equality. So 3 ’hangers’ featured in a game meant for ‘gapers’. Is that a problem? I’m not saying it wasn’t. Was that cheating? I am not saying it wasn’t. But I am not saying it was, either. I’m just wishing we could all play together.

Sexuality is insincere; a dubious construct. It’s just bodies. You brush against a part of mine, I rub against yours. The way the animals do. It’s nothing. We’re just playing. Bonding. Groping. Socializing. If we don’t elevate sexuality, then everything is fair game. It’s just bodies. Petty,  physical things.

Don’t Let Anger Ruin a Friendship.

My twin always preaches: “When you’re angry, what do you do? Nothing!” Last week, I fell out with a ‘Huckleberry Friend’. She skidded out of her way to make me feel bad. She said we’d parked out of ‘Friendship Zone’ to ‘Pure Professional Zone.’ I admit (ssshhh) that I was hurt. I thought to tell her which part of my shoes she could kiss. But, I did nothing. Over the weekend, while I was alone (and cruising in my prescribed professional zone) my phone beeped. It was my ‘Huckleberry Friend’. She asked if I was home and resting. She said she’d see me on Monday. With those two lines, we were all Tom-and-Huck again. I am glad that I did nothing. I have my friend back. Driving in ‘Friendship Zone’ is a bit start-and-stop right now, but the engine will warm up soon, and oil all the moving parts. Friends are forever.

Remembering Club Citro

A fizzy, clear, citrus cordial in a 150-ml bottle, sold in the ‘80s, retired in the ‘90s.

Irregardless

What? Irregardless. What? Irregardless! I just caught a doctor from the WHO say "irregardless" on BBC. He wanted to say both "irrespective" and "regardless" at the same time. It happens irregardless of where you come from, no?

Treat Your Hair Like a Football Field

An old man at the barber's shop took one look at me and said, “Son, treat your hair like a football field – optimal level all the time – and not like a sheep’s wanton wool – it grows, you shear it off. That’s the way of a well-groomed man.”

Over-scented Peacocks

Fifty thousand eligible young men exhibited in the City gallery of Accra, hanging around all day, just lounging. We see just their high-decibel clothes, billboard shoes and tonnes of blinding jewellery. Oh, and the wealth (?) they 'madvertise' with oceans of designer fragrance. Did I say “eligible”? Eligible for jail, then.

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?