Saturday, February 13, 2016

Doing 'La-pour' in the City of Accra

When I was a curious, capering child street-sauntering at Achimota School, there was an obliging, octogenarian gardener with no known name. People called him "La-pour". La-pour taught me many things, including how to count from one to ten in Ga. 

The backstory goes that, many years earlier, La-pour had played along with his fellows at work, while they pilfered bags of flour from their employer. Then, La-pour (the man) promptly turned to 'do la-pour' (the snitching), and his mates were fired. Good man! He received ridicule from his community, lost his real name, and got a shame-name. 

The other day, an obviously loved MP was brutally bayoneted to death at home.Between a former prisoner, a phone repairer and the police, a suspect was arrested in a half-blink. These people went to 'do la-pour'. 

That's where we are, now, in Ghana. With crime and cruelty cruising at abandoned altitudes, it's time to make observation and la-pour-ing to the police a way of life.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Sex Tapes on Social Media

Young, impetuous idiots. Why tape the transgression? Can't you just find forbidden fruit anytime? What am I saying? Shouldn't you be seducing your syllabi senseless?

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Soldiers Against Black Magic

A security chief of a company was being replaced. He’d been caught sozzled on the job. The next Monday morning, he was introduced to his replacement. The CEO asked the two to work together for one week. A transition. They were both ex soldiers. Fit. Strong. In good health. Apparently. They started on a tour of the grounds. Two minutes into the tour, the new security capo collapsed. He was whisked to the hospital, where he came to. His vital signs read healthy. He zoomed back to normal in minutes. The next day, he emailed the CEO to say he’d not be taking the job. His reason – he didn’t want to expire by black magic.

What about you? Do you know of any similarly weird stories? Do you believe that black magic works at all. And in this way?

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

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?

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

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.

Monday, March 24, 2014

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?

Sunday, March 23, 2014

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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Saturday, March 22, 2014

Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 3


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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Friday, March 21, 2014

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

Thursday, March 20, 2014

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

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Can We Ever Like Our Cops?

Tell me - is there anything rarer in this land than a courteous traffic cop? (Not counting dollar transactions or the frequency of my blog posts). Recently, a cop 'arrested' my sister for jumping the "amber lights" at 10 pm. After apologies and a promise to be of good behaviour only made him angry, she resigned to going to the police station with him. Don't you think that should have pleased him? Well it didn't.

One hour later, he had failed to bully her to offer him a bribe of 400 Cedis. And he could no longer take her to the station because he couldn't explain why a 5-minute drive had taken an hour at traffic-less 10 pm. When passersby inched closer to smell what he was cooking up at the roadside at that time, he quickly crawled into a getaway hole.

The men in black
Are difficult to back.

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Friday, March 7, 2014

The Twelve Deaths of Chivalry

The door flies agape, and the boor slimes in. He flings it the other way, and nearly plasters the face of the woman in his wake. He plods to the queue, and snakes along to the head where a little kid stands. On the next turn, he swats the infant aside with his left hand. While making his order, his ‘megaphone’ bangs out of his pocket. In three minutes, he broadcasts his side affair to the whole world. Then, he makes his order. He foot-sweeps the tiles on his way out. He flops into the car before he remembers the woman he came with. She’s barely sat down, when he shoots the car forward, cutting across a moving car beside him. His music blares out in doltish decibels. His smirk shows he’s proved how important he is.

Friday, December 13, 2013

The Small Claims Man

That afternoon, he was uneasily installed behind a tiny, dark-wood desk. That morning, he’d chosen a chimera of a lime green shirt matched with a black necktie with dirty white stripes...or a white necktie with faded black stripes. If planned as a weapon to disorient me, then first blood to him. While he negotiated a small insurance claim with me, my eyes tried to negotiate a huge, yellow splotch out of his tie. Both negotiations failed. We agreed to come back another day. I then escaped from this semi-piebald-semi-skewbald circus.

Friday, November 8, 2013

On the Transience of Public Office

I want to live my life
Above political strife
The level I'm at today
Shouldn't overnight sneak away

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Honey, I Changed My Face

I guess padded bras and bums fall in this category – duty of disclosure. My office mates cannot agree on whether she should have told him. I’m talking about the ‘ugly’ Chinese woman who went under the knife, erased her past, loathsome life, and then became a wife. If there’s a duty, is it legal or moral? Office Female Miss Little Naughty says she didn’t owe him zilch. But she says he’d have owed her a duty of disclosure if he was a transsexual. How about hair implants? Or breast enlargement? Or replaced teeth? Liposuction? It can get absurd. Oh, bleached / toned / lightened / de-melanin-ed skin? Duty, anyone?

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Washington Monument to be Renamed for Obama!

This heading doesn't deserve 'funny'. But, then again, ha ha ha ha ha. Ha! Funny and disturbing at once. It is a joke. In more ways that one, it is. It would not happen in the United States. But it is threatening to happen ... in Ghana (where else, but God's own country of doltish pantomime?). Citizens stirred one morning to hear about a change. A monument named after the designer of our flag (God bless her flowery creativity) was about to be ... deflowered. The national hockey stadium was named after the hallowed matron and was well-received. Somebody ejected prematurely from their bed and decided to change that. It was going to be renamed after a much-loved ex president who died on the job. Never mind that the former 'High Street' and a few other monuments are already his in name (directly or indirectly). When the public rightly cried out, an anaemic explanation was offered: "We won't rename the entire stadium; only the brick and mortar; we will keep her name on the grass". Okay, so it is not really grass they play on, but you get my indignation. Rubbish, poppycock, claptrap! AND WHILE SHE IS STILL ALIVE! When people get hare-brain ideas (in a land of little light) and zoom off to announce it on the nearest working microphone, this is what happens.The president appears indigné aussi. There's said to be a summons to the presidency. How do you start to explain away such a cerebral non-event?

(Picture credit -

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Friday, June 21, 2013

Judgment Debts & Other Random Questions

Will Martin Amidu now go far back in history?
Will the fires stop if the petitioners win their case?
Will RLG next build houses for members of the opposition?
Will something, anything, please keep Kevin-Prince from Ghana?

Saturday, May 25, 2013

The Man Who Wanted Minerals

He's a cool-looking dude. I can almost see the silver spoon in his mouth. I can see the 'uppity' in his face and all, except he needs the 7-minute workout. He plonks on the seat next to me in business class and kicks off his shoes. Strike one. When the stewardess shuffles over to us, she sounds genuinely like she's from Southern Africa. She asks if I'd like some tea, hot chocolate, coffee or juice. I say juice. She says she has pineapple, apple and 'mengo'. I choose 'mengo'. Seat-mate has already snoozed off. She wakes him up and repeats the 'mengo' speech. Then he asks, 'Don't you have minerals?' Strike two. She's lost; I'm shocked. Were we in 1985? He goes on, 'Like Coke, Mirinda...' That's strike three. She shakes her head. He whines, 'I don't like those hot things.' So he picks pineapple.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Poor Mother of Poor Twins

The sex was unlawful - sixteen year olds can't have legal sex in Ghana - and poorly executed (unprotected). I guess she didn't feel like a child then. The twins are lovely bundles of joy as children should be, except they're just one bundle! Suddenly their mother is a child; not mature enough to accept other children (her children) as they are. Then, again, I wonder if I'd be different.