(Un)Sound Engineers

When I loud-listen to music made in America or Europe, the notes fall clear and crystalline, but homemade Hiplife, played at high decibels, distorts the Bose baseline, and ferries fart sounds through the loudspeakers. The same boom-boom blights neo-Naija music too. Why?

Is It Like That For Shop Assistants?

I dived into a convenience shop, at 10 p.m., on my way home, last night. The friendly shop assistants were counting coins by the tedious thousands at their sales stations. They told me that they had to repeat the routine morning and night, everyday. I didn’t have the heart to take my (substantial) change.

“Am”

Maybe it’s the currency of cyber-speak; maybe it’s lowbrow laziness. I can’t stand people who write or say “Am” when they must mean “I’m”. They’re too lead-lazy or dynamite-deaf to learn the difference in pronunciation. I hear it spoken everywhere, I see it in magazines, newspapers and on TV. “Am tired” of hearing people say “Am ...” anything. See how that repulses.

Taxi Driver Kwasea

This one taxi driver would not go scot-free. In just 3 hours, I had been rudely road-rushed by crazy manoeuvres in double digits. He did it at Kwame Nkrumah Circle. I hounded him on Ring Road Central up to Bus Stop. As I gained on him, I shouted “Taxi driver Kwasea”. He was pained to shock, hardly expecting effluence like that. But I was gone before he could react, and all he could do was to honk hysterically.

Public Pubic Pawing

An office mate and I ‘visioned’ a vulgar vassal in black, velvet shorts vocalising on his violet celly on the avenue behind the British High Commission. In the vivid daylight at 10 a.m., and inside his shorts, the vile vole was holding a varicose bulge! By confidently looking at us, he made us rather feel ashamed.