Hiplife Video Vixens in the City of Accra

As far as Hiplife goes, I shine up to the songs that I do before I see the videos. It is not a statement on quality, though I don’t think mighty much of them. It’s about the video vixens. They seem to need to wear minimal clothes to bump, grind and gyrate their boiling bodies. Is there only one way of dancing to Hiplife? Is it not an art form that must develop, innovate and reinvent itself all the time? And Hiplife naturally thrives on immediacy and present-pulse. It reflects what is happening today, right now, at this very moment! Then it fast fizzles out and returns revealed in different sizzling styles. That’s the thrill of our Hiplife. So if Hiplife means all that’s cool, en vogue, stylish and ‘now’, you really have no effing excuse wearing out-of-vogue-and-never-returning, ugly-in-itself-God-what-was-the-tailor-thinking fashion simply because it helps us to delicious 'dishings' of your delightful desserts.

Un-I-Doing in the City of Accra

They grumble that divorce is competing healthily-unhealthily on the sombre-statistics table in the nuptial city of Accra. Some propose that today’s talented women are anti-BS and will make you gorge yourself on some. I have double doubts about that. Other people whine that young people are getting hitched for wretched reasons. I’m open to looking into that. Is love the only right reason? What about respect? Convenience? Empathy? Need?

The Commodity of Children

They sell fish and nets and kids at roughly the same price. And the kids are human kids, not goats, but their parents are marketing them. They litter in tens and twelves: 3 may not survive ill-health, 5 to do the menial jobs, 4 for sale if the fish fetches low prices. Arrests hardly happen. Prosecutions never nail them. It may be Vigilante-Time.

New Rule: One-Month Seizure

A driver sees the red lights come up. He’d rather not stop because (unlike the other people in the gridlock) he has somewhere to go...urgently.

Another driver swerves out of the traffic line and cuts a through-course across the hard shoulder. Street vendors just manage to sprint out of harm’s way.

A traffic cop halts both cars. He takes down the particulars of the cars and of the drivers. He calmly motions the passengers to come down. He takes the keys away from the drivers. The cop has no choice but to be firm. A camera blinks at him from a nearby pole or fence.

In 20 minutes, tow trucks arrive. The now-repentant cars are ‘craned’ up and whisked off to the government ‘Hold’ an hour’s drive outside Accra. They will hibernate there for 1 month.

1 month cannot run quickly enough. If the driver wants his car back, he must visit the ‘Hold’ outside Accra, and fork out the ‘fine’. The fine has a built-in rental for the space and care of the car.

A document is signed. It shows the fine has been paid. It is also a bond that on the third seizure, your licence will go, and on the fifth seizure, your car would go.

If I had the power to make a rule about life in Accra, this is what I think I’d do. Reader, what would you do with that power? What would you change?

Smallpox in Court in 2010!

Shame on the liked lawyer who ‘couriered’ his unwilling understudy last week to announce that he had the chicken pox, and could not continue his case. Today, he returned, hardly pockmarked, I must say. He announced that he’d contracted malaria and ... wait for this ... smallpox! Gosh, smallpox was ‘dinosaured’ in the 1970s. He was lying about the illness, no?

Seriously, the Police...

The police were not my friends. Then they curtailed the scary robbery statistics. They even charmed my respect and friendship. That means I’d slip them a little ‘something’ (money) every night. Last night, I was stopped four times by the police within twenty minutes. Each time, I was shunted out of the traffic line. It was just past 9 p.m. Each time, I had to “open your boot”. Each time, I had to flash my driving licence. For a while, I’d praised this ‘professionalism’. Then I realized they’d just wanted to extort money. Why? Because my boyish looks made me a likely soft target.

Modesty Means Long Life

In another Ghana glitch (also known as ‘movie’) an *Asafo team went off to war with the next village. Deep in the forest, where an ambush was likely to be sprung, the Asafo was chanting war songs, and their Goliath was leaping up-down, up-down like he was competing with the giant trees for height, when an arrow cut him down. I laughed so hard that I upset the neighbourhood dog-siesta.

*A troop of soldiers