“Thank God We Are Not A Nigerians”

You’re playing football with your sibling in your backyard, when a miscued (but intended) hard kick floats over the wall onto your neighbour’s grounds and smacks your friend (who lives there) in the face, drawing blood from his nose. Yes, you were just playing, and the bleeding will stop, but should he just forgive you? Or should he scale the wall and thwack you right back on the chin?

So, there is a song by a very interesting pair of Ghanaian musicians – Wanlov and Mensa, also known as FOKN Bois – which has sailed over the wall and landed with a thud in the face of their neighbour.

I have not heard the song myself, but the title is (syntax stumble intended) “Thank God We Are Not A Nigerians”. 

Marking Maltesers

Sneaked out of the office freezer
Boldly branded against sticky fingers
Stapled to make doubly sure
Tantalising teasers

A Lovely, Educated Public

I was lounging at the curiously-christened 'Luscious Temptations', at East Legon, last Saturday, with fellow bloggers Kobby Graham, Nii Ayertey and Edward Tagoe, discussing the extinct education in ‘gambling’ Ghana. Then, today, I stumble across a news item that Nana Akufo-Addo (a presidential candidate) promises a “lovely, educated public” within a decade, if he wins Elections 2012. Sadly, the news report (shameful for a digital medium like myjoyonline) skips his ‘blowhard’ building blocks for achieving such lettered loveliness.

Electric Bills & 'Compound' Houses in the City of Accra

A compound clustered with twenty tiny cubicles - detached or semi - with twenty families 'tadpoled' into them. Human activity is measured by one power meter.

One government worker possesses the Tv, the hot plate, the iron, the fan and the fridge. Nineteen other families 'temp' his toys from him; cook their gruel on his hot plate, preserve their meat in his fridge and watch cheap South American Tv soaps into his sleeping time.

When the electric shock (sorry, bill) kicks in on the 29th, the landlord, without calculating, coldly carves a chubby chunk for 'white collar' to settle. The 19 families plead penury and unemployment and 'snitch' that it is the government man who hoards the Tv and other gainful gadgets. Nobody wishes to install a separate meter for their room alone.

Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone

When Your Debtor Says You Owe Him

Mr. B. Borrower (B for ‘Barbarian’) cadged his friend, Mr. B. Birdbrain (B for ‘Boob’) for a loan of 200 Ghana Cedis. Birdbrain had only 150 that day, and loved his neighbour more than himself by handing it all over. Birdbrain felt his heart moved by the frowning face of wretched Borrower and pledged to provide the extra 50 Cedis on the morrow. The discourteous debtor accepted the 150 Cedis and said “Thanks. So you owe me 50 Cedis”!

What? Was it impudence or lazy language use?

(True story, made-up names. W’abodam papa!)

Social Media's Upheaval

Cynicism seized my mind and ceased my heart as I watched horrible fires and rioting in Clapham, Ealing Broadway, Croydon and Peckam. The kids are apparently not organised crime gangs. They're just angry teens with ski masks and no jobs or social centres. They're 'organising' with social media. The level of deprivation is more dire in Accra. Should we hope the poorest and street kids do not discover social media and its organisational advantages or find it affordable? God help the poor. God help the rich to help the poor. Or else, God help the rich!

Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone

Caught on the Crotch-Watch

(Welcome to Silly Friday)

Women always cavil that men address their cleavage in conversation instead of their faces. Well, it’s true, and we aren’t ashamed to admit it. For many years, I’ve been catching women watching my crotch from the corner of their eyes (and other men’s crotches too). Of course, they pretend no such thing has happened. It happens particularly in offices when the woman is sitting down as you approach her. So we ‘cornered’ a colleague who admitted it to us and blamed it on our tight or body-fitting clothes. We did not bother to counter with a question on their low necklines – somehow we knew they’d say it wasn’t quite the same. She said she wondered if some guys kept a pot in their crotch.

As long as you remain on the crotch-watch, we’ll feel free with the cleavage eye-grope.