Memories of London 2012

My keepsakes from the Olympics: the thrice-striking lightning Bolt; Farah winning Mo than one gold medal; Jess the GIANT tadpole; the Baltimore Bullet killing it in the swimming pool; Golden Girl Gabby Douglas.

And then there was the bonsai Bukom boxer; went into the prize fight with only brawn; beaten into a pulp of boiled bambara beans by the lanky Nipponese 'blowman'. God, his bewildered oafish look!

Country of Necrophiliacs

This dead president's legacy may be immortal. Yet, the leftovers are a common corpse. We clownish-clash over which family has the title deeds to the esteemed cadaver and what pencil of land it will lie six feet under. Why? We are a country of necrophiliacs.

Illegal Mining Affecting Girls

Illegal mining in a needy district should blow boys' education into smithereens. But why is it dynamite for damsels too? 'Galamsey Boys' are youthful, loaded, walking neon lights. They bedazzle the girls to choose the procreative trimester over the academic one.

Education Failure. Yes Sir.

Teacher:                    Two plus two equals 4. Understood?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Should I go over again?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     But all of you understood it?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                    Computer.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Skyscraper.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Pathetic.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Mo te m'asee? (Do you understand me?)

Pupils:                        Dabi (No!!!!!!)

Street Animal

Self-reproach is when you catch your thoughts not sparing a moment for the people who work in the streets. But how do you feel touched for the construction worker who’s savagely shovelling rocks and scoring hits on passing cars.

He looks up surprised at each cling and clang. The scowl on his ferret-face says how dare we steer our cars to hit his precious projectiles! How I wish a raptor or ‘saurus would drag him back into the cave he crawled out of this morning!

Bootlick Airlines

Cowering on a thirty-minute flight, meditating on how long it took for a light plane to bite the dust (in these days of mishap), I was squirming – and not just me – at the slimy gallons of apocryphal adulation the cabin crew poured all over a minister of State in the faux-glorified business class separated by a flimsy blue curtain. “Welcome, Honourable Minister, ladies and gentlemen.” “Have a pleasant flight, Honourable Minister...” “Goodbye, Honourable Minister...”

Flimsy Banku Buffets

Perched at the buffet saloon of a shiny hotel on a soggy Kumasi night, sampling senseless delights and wondering woolly whys the local chophouses don’t offer as-much-as-you-like banquets to he-who-goes-there.