Blogcamp 13...is about Tilapia

Nobody can regale you with the savoury story of how to 'tooth' the char-grilled flesh off the skeletal frame of the Piscean, Tilapia, better than a Ghanaian/Ghana-resident. That’s why I blog; I know the pulse of Ghana; I sing her song.

Blogcamp 12 was a platter of soft-cooked Banku with devilish dollops of sweet pepper, shito and Kpakpo, and a greasy pound of queen tilapia tiara’ed with tomatoes and golden onions. A palette of pleasant people; soul-stirring storytellers looking for an audience with eager palates.

So what will 13 be like? Come Saturday, come hungry for fun.

Social Media

Year - twenty thirteen
Samsung - Tech Queen

Hangout - Facebook/Twitter
Reason - Flirt with not one jitter

Others? - Those mental dances
Pay-off - Network it enhances

You No Go Sort Me Out?

‘Chale, I dey go house wey my fuel short. Make you sort me out.’

Impetuous, inane, puerile ... thing; moulding pie with putrid hubris for filling. Demanding dough with a sense of entitlement. I stone-face him, power up the window and cruise down Spintex Road.

‘Oh, you no go sort me out?’ he barks.

He does not say ‘please’ once. In my rear-view mirror, he’s already trudging up Spintex Road.

I Don't Know What to Say

Are you saying somebody will find 100 Cedis and give it to the anti-social person? Are you really trying to stop a bad habit?

Flower Girl in the City of Accra

At Ridge, where Gamel Nasser Avenue deceives to fly over the Police HQ, I watched a tight, green, Afric-fabric frock ‘hallmarked’ with delightful petals...on a milk-choc mannequin on the move. Loose, flair-sleeves, rich-blue, florid frills like garlands on the neck. Sitting on her body like the immaculate skin of a flawless fruit. Frivolously creased at the hamper-hips, where the dress rode up. Why did she have to go and tug it downwards? Our little love affair was quickly done.