There is a smutty
lunatic hectoring the elbow room of the Dzorwulu Access Bank ATM. He’s a scary
totem pole in the day time, still as a statue in his self-imposed straitjacket. He comes to life at night, using all the space to swing his imaginary
cats. The punch buttons must be squeaky clean, for nobody ever uses them. Maybe
the bank doesn’t know he stands there. Maybe they know and like it.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
The Cat-Kicker
Inside the
wooden fencing, they’re watching a La-Liga match. Outside, where the
loudspeakers bellow loud, we sit among the smoking tables, each two less than a
metre apart. The varicoloured bottles remain arranged on the tables when a
round of drinks is done like some mating-dance plume show. A couple huddles
near the perimeter opening. He’s having a drink. She’s having a drink and
eating out of a plate. Her mouth drops almost all the way to the table. I’m watching
the obscene curvature of her ... backbone, when I see two cats circling the
table. One can no longer wait for scraps and bravely rubs against her leg. With
a shout above the music, she kicks the poor cat in an airborne arc into the
crowd. Who kicks animals anywhere? And who kicks felines on a date?
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Triplets at El Wak on a Saturday Morning
On a twilight
cruise for Saturday soccer at Labone. Aviation Road is already abuzz with busy-bee
Accraians. The traffic lights fire red before I can cross Giffard Road into
Cantonments. I don’t like stopping here: not fifty feet from where the runway-gobbling
plane scythed through the swarming street. Three sets of tiny feet identically shod in bright-red
ladybug-like shoes pitter-patter across one lane. Their mother plods behind
them. The first stretches out her tiny hand and wriggles the fingers at passing
cars. Her two sisters repeat what she does. One, two, three, four, all cars are
hypno-stopped. They sail across in a straight line in rhythmic step. Mother ‘walruses’
awkwardly behind them. Then, they are gone. Beautiful. Beguiling.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Automatic Car Wash
I was thrilled
earlier this week to see an automatic car wash open right outside my
neighbourhood on Spintex Road. My hood was far from dusty, but the elements had
gnawed at the tired streets. Then, some smart person chose to cover it all with
pavement blocks, and then the pavement with cement dust. Now a car can only
stand clean for one hour.
Today I went to
the car wash. It’s owned by two Lebanese old men. They take pleasure in
pressing the buttons themselves. The car is lathered and washed with electric
pompoms and semi-dried with electric dryers.
A few metres
further down, four Ghanaian lads wipe the cars dry. That’s the real story of
this post. They are filled with so much hate. They insult their employers from
the time you drive in, and theirs is the last voice you hear on the way out –
insulting. They speak in Twi, of course, and try to draw me into their
xenophobia. I ignore them. When I’m ready to drive off in my shiny car, one of
the owners capers up to me and asks in a friendly voice, “It good?” Although it
took longer than your regular one-hose car wash, I’m going back there.
It was those
boys’ attitude that needed to run through the car wash, not cars.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
The Foolish Get Scammed
It’s not sinister spy stuff. One contented brain, two
eagle eyes and three grams of good grammar – the essential toolkit. The steed
of cyber fraud will canter far from your prudent purse. I mean, what self-respecting
‘British’ CENTER has a website wriggling with worms of American English?
Friday, August 24, 2012
This is Not Education
How does a boy end J.S.S.
Unable to spell his name?
Is he a buffoon, more or less
Or's the system to blame?
How does a girl attain Legon
And know naught from the books?
Education's a great, big con
If no one cares or looks
How do the youth land a new job
And never had a coach?
They're thrown out to the working mob
And crushed flat like a 'roach
Unable to spell his name?
Is he a buffoon, more or less
Or's the system to blame?
How does a girl attain Legon
And know naught from the books?
Education's a great, big con
If no one cares or looks
How do the youth land a new job
And never had a coach?
They're thrown out to the working mob
And crushed flat like a 'roach
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Jobs Hanging on Trees in the City of Accra
Who's jump-started the jobs-jalopy in Accra? I haven't seen it hobble past on the street below my office window. It's just the passport-hunting, jobless flock. So where's the Ghana High Commission going to conjure nine-to-fives for jobless Ghana-Brits to return to? Political possum-play.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
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