Pain and Breeze

Life is pain and little breeze
All deserve more than they get
Yet living’s beyond regret
Problem doors will all have keys
Happiness won’t come with ease

Being at peace with yourself
A conscience free from dark design
Is the elusive underline
The vain-vaunted fame and pelf
Can’t coax happiness off a shelf.

Secret Santa, Give Me a Pair of Socks!

Secret Santa:
Shoestring budget of 10 bucks (you said!)
You got your friend a pair of blue socks with sick grey stripes.
He moaned “I don’t get interesting presents anymore!”
You called his family and ‘curioused’ what he would like.
“Something artistic and unusual”, they hinted.
You found the task of looking way too difficult.
And having no sense of art in you...
So you got him a bum-boring gift.
He still wears them for an excuse to be rude.

Lingering Eyes

Babe, I'm so proud
That in every crowd
From face to little finger
All eyes, on you, linger

Pigeon English - Words with Wings

I wrote a blog post on Pidgin English the other day, and my office mates got to reading it. The Shona Mambo (mambo=prince) remarked that he thought the spelling was p-i-g-e-o-n, and he was bug-eyed for a wonder. The Malay Putri (putri=princess) sauntered in and exclaimed, “I thought it was spelt p-i-g-e-o-n! Why not p-i-g-e-o-n?” The Viscount of the Volta answered, “Because it cannot really fly!”

Me and You

We go away today
To a place where we can play
It will not matter who
Or where or what we do
As long as it's me and you

Mof Touch

Cally and I were getting an emergency haircut at “B Fine” Saloon, near the Red Lobster Restaurant, in kiosk-cramped Madina. The Barber (I forget his name) was a cool kind of guy who was trying to be “one of us”. When Cally was done and came out with a shiny, clear, coconut, Barber asked Cally if he would like the “MOF TOUCH”. In Ghanaian Pidgin English, Mof = Mouth. His English is patently self-taught. I laughed so hard that the end-to-end mirror began to rattle. I did not have the heart to tell him he really meant to say MOUSTACHE.

The Ghana Police Academy Instruction Manual

Introduction

In your secondary schools, you had formal learning. You also learned through the informal system. Your informal-system knowledge is what distinguished you as a product of your school, and made Achimota, Wesley Girls, Adisadel, Aburi Girls, Mfantsipim, Holy Child, etc. what they are.

This instruction manual recognises that (since you have likely not made it to some higher education) your chances of sitting in a comfortable office, making phone calls to your bank to make big dollar-cheque transfers are slim. We, your officers, are condescending to give you a head start on how to survive in the world out there, if your training does not kill you.

It should come as no surprise that we will deal with FINANCE in chapter one, while the unsuspecting civilian population whose taxes pay for our training and, later, our salaries, think that our primary concern is with SECURITY, LAW and ORDER. If you feel guilty here, close this book and walk away from the Academy. If it helps, remember all those civilians who are calling their bank managers right now!

Harassing motorists is the easiest way to earn about ten times more than your salary. The steps are simple:

i. Insist that they roll down the window;
ii. Make sure they roll it all the way down to give you enough space to poke your hand in there;
iii. Say “good evening”, “welcome” and “how was work”;
iv. Stretch out your hand and shake hands (research proves that they will feel that they owe you something, once you are nice and you shake hands with them);
v. Quickly take the money they give you and wave them on;
vi. Repeat the procedure with the next car.

Now, about security, ...