In Jest of MUSIGA

Just one pageant probably plays per night – pick whenever – in the city of Accra. Performers pitch bruising background battles to snatch a slot in the spectacle. Fiercer flashpoints erupt everywhere when fatuous awards are arriving. Every flippant, flippety-flop figures that ‘four or five figurines will be fine for me.’ Why, then, do performers pretend to pool together with one positive purpose?

Black Woman with Natural Hair

She explodes through the pixilated party-crowd with effervescing energy in her honeycomb. Kinky, coily, fluffy, black stuff, sparkling and fizzing towards the bar...where I stand. In her milky white dress, she radiates her foamy halo in my face. The hair whispers to me, and takes me. The cameo’s over, the music floods back. She glides away with me.

Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives – Pt 5 (The End)

He shadowed her around the house

Suspicious if she fed a mouse

She'd stopped him from keeping his spear

Not at home or anywhere near

She stayed young, he grew older

And the gap between them bolder

And she started to miss her husband

The one that they had cruelly canned

As she cooked he’d sit behind her

While she fanned the fire in a blur

His memories would come a-floodin’

And he’d sing his fears a-sudden

Adwoa, I’m frightened by your fanning

Eno Adwoa, what are you planning?

Is there a spear out there tonight?

Eno, will I live to see the light?

Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 4

Déjà Vu

An old warrior lost his life
And his killer found a wife
Their little secret - it was kept
Though out the baby crept

The years flashed by rapidly
The warrior aged inevitably
But Adwoa, the warriors' woman
Her genes stayed young - unkind omen

First went her pleasant responses
Then came her repeat absences
He blamed it on that the child died
Other reasons, he feared, denied

He'd won a thousand battles
Acquired great wealth and chattels
But his power was on the wane
And the blood cooled in his vein

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Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 3

Murder

At night, with stealth, he crossed town bounds
Unseen by sentries, late lovers or hounds
When he reached the marked homestead
The time was still and eerie-dead

He could not see into the court
Nor could he starboard or port
But a fire was blazing high
Adwoa must be cooking nigh

Movement crossed his vision near
And he drew his trusted spear
And Adwoa took her big, broad fan
Thus unfolded love's cruel plan

Her fanning had a meaning 

That her husband was serening

In his corner lazy chair 

The spear struck, his head split like a pear

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Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 2

The Plot

She’d go to her old man at night

But he’d lost his warrior’s might

And would he take the father’s blame

When he could not light a flame?

The time, it was a-going

Her bump, it was a-showing

Women whispered under the trees

As she passed, through cough and sneeze

Oh, her name was Adwoa

Her old man called her Eno

But her response became sour

As he aged into a minnow

The young lovers turned to fear

Shame and execution nestled near

They had now to run away

Or the old cuckold to slay

Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 1

Just A Little Bit of Fun

An old warrior and his pretty young wife

Lived a quiet and peaceful life

With the spoils of war, and not a care

But a fire was raging in her

A great conqueror he'd once been

But his spirit was no longer keen

And her blood was hot and boiling

And her old man just a-toiling

So she made friends with a young man

A fierce warrior from a nearby clan

And they’d sneak away many nights

While the vet dreamt of his ancient fights

In no time, she had a fever

Her young champ had loved with fervour

And the oldie would soon come round

To her little growing mound