Rogue Doctors in the City of Accra?

A doctor is a lapdog-yessir-how-high-should-I-jump slave. Their patients rule them, dominate, oppress and sometimes make them lose their jobs. You may have murdered their mother – they cannot turn their back on you! So if the nurses rap on the surgery door, and the doctor declines to exit, is he always unjustified? Just asking...

(Picture credit - clarkcapitalfinance.com)

The Love Race in the City of Acccra

 I just saw a man from a shack on a moped win a girl over a man from a chateau and on luxury four-wheels, although her father was an arse. All in a Ghanaian movie. I totally took notice!

(Picture credit - current.com)

Street Fighting in the City of Accra

Me in a street fight. Well, not quite. The urchin did not put up a fight. He swung out his hand and broke my side mirror and indicator light. I had seen him from far. I had even swerved to the middle of the street. It’s a new trick in Accra. New for the past five years or so. Desperados take this risk. Then, then they ask for 50 Ghana Cedis to go to the ‘hospital’. It’s happened to me twice already. Not a third time. I came out of the car and grabbed him. I did not let go until I got help. It was in a gentle neighbourhood – Ridge – so I did not risk a stabbing. At least I hope so. He’s now behind bars. He’s headed for court. 

Resolutions = Rubbish

You don’t know when a discriminating asteroid would wipe out most of the opposite sex, compelling you to a need for prostitutes/gigolos. And so life goes. It is fluid – we don’t know what’s around the corner. It makes little sense – to me – to make New Year Resolutions. They only mark your own  ill-discipline. You can make resolutions as and when you need them. A toilet-moment resolution. A post-orgasm resolution. A born-again resolution. A birthday resolution. A Chelsea-slump resolution. An Obama-inspired resolution. When resolutions are made for particular moments, don’t they stand a better chance of success? Now I must go do a no-more-late-bath resolution.

Family Reunion

Family reunions go so wonderfully well if the old people gather away and leave the now-timers at another place. And the fufu, jollof and the cake-and-ice-cream-with-brandy are evenly lavished in both places. I will remember that when I grow old.


(Picture credit - dailymoaner.com)

Highlife Music – The Rebirth of the Slick

November ’09. Night with the Stars – Joy FM’s glossy Hiplife parade. There are scores of Hiplife super stars. The chary organisers have sprinkled only one ‘rock’ Gospel star and one jaded Highlife star on the bill.

It began bubbling with a bevy of two buxom ladies bopping on their feet; then four; then eight. Soon, the whole hall was animated, sweetly seduced by Abrantie Amakye Dede and his moulding olden, golden Highlife.

Later events were quick to establish Abrantie on the bill. Now he’s popular enough – again – to own his own glittering gala and wear scarlet-red suits. In little over a year, Highlife music is suddenly slick again.

(Picture credit - musicwithease.com)

This is My Taste

Naughty girls! I always gathered that the attractive assistants at the local convenience shop play girl-games with the men who stride in. Last night, I picked up a whisper: “As for this one, he is my taste.” I was “that one” because I had just walked in. Beyond my dislike of the use of "taste" – instead of “preference” – for the other four senses, I was slightly tickled with their fickle, flirty, flighty fancy.

(Picture credit - eccobistro.com)