A Time to Heal

Tell me, should a battered, broken heart
Not hide away till time heals the pain?
Or should it stay wide open and apart
And try to trust and love again?

Free-Riding in the City of Accra

In the creeping cord of traffic on the gritty main artery of Adenta Quarter, two draggled, frowzy men hopped off the rear bumper of the trotro (mini bus) in front of me. They’d been freeloading from Madina Town for about three turbulent kilometres. The driver didn’t seem to mind – I wonder why I did.

Coin-Counting Carousal in the City of Accra

Equator Bar, Accra, 9p.m.

He let slip to case a new place to hang out with an advance party of his mates before whisking a woman there. Now, he and three of his mates are having happy drinks with a woman – a tall, dark, leggy vixen in a short, small, black dress. She’s full of electro-magnetic elegance. They put on a cheesecake aided by the combo band. Then, it’s time to go. It’s time to pay.

The waiter drops the bill. The men shoot back in shock. They debate in decibels above the music exactly how many of what they have had. One appeals to see the drink menu – Jackass, isn’t this two hours too late?

Thirty minutes later, when it’s time for my group to hit the door, Miss Legs and her guy are still stuck in their booth. Their mates have long left them. My guess is they are going to bring some money to pay. Miserable toads!

Letting Go

Why should you let them go
When it's true, and you know
Their chance of a happy life
Is all in being your wife?

Quasimodo dies in the City of Accra

Ghanaian old wives’ tales will tickle me to tantrums on any given day. Whooping and living it up with Kiz, his Barbs and Lil Girl on a muggy, grey Saturday, the gloomy, gravid clouds gave way, and, then, they gave us rain. I had just been observing to Kiz that the Adenta sun seemed the most fiery in Accra; almost vile and volcanic. Outside, it was splashing and slopping cats and dogs, but the sun still shone through. Kiz chirruped that a hunchback had just died! I was rallying to be horrified, when Barbs confirmed that Kiz was only flipping folklore on its head. A traditional belief, wow! The rain let up for a while. Guess what was said next, in jest, when, presently, the Sun-Rain came down again: Wow, they bury them fast these days! He’s funny, my friend.

Girl on her Knees in a Mechanic’s Yard

It is the customary cavernous space three-sides surrounded by high-walled properties. It is cramped squalid with junk, scrap-cars and a few good cars. The master mechanic and his bearded boys are not in sight. There’s just a gamine girl of 12 or 13, who is ‘dregged’ down on her knees in the middle of the yahoo yard. It is a searing, sunny day. I wonder who left her there, and why.

Handwashing

There's something character-forming
In washing clothes by hand
I do this every morning
Or evening, on demand.


Alternative Rhyme...

There's something character-forming
In washing clothes by hand
Upon this understanding
Does one of my principles stand.