Kwame Nkrumah Series

This week, 'Ghana Blogging' decided to blog on the eminent statesman. AR will post snippets on his life, and try not to get way too serious. Enjoy!

He Didn't Buy Meat

A lad who never strayed too far from his comfortable life or over-doting parents tagged along when his streetwise schoolmates bussed off to a sports fiesta at Koforidua. His mates ‘diverted’ to a ‘chopbar’ to eat. Rich Boy was fascinated by the Waakye, but had never bought food in a place like this. He did not know how to buy it, what to say, or how much to buy. He glanced around for a clue, and settled on a workman eating the vaunted darkish rice and beans. He sauntered over and shyly asked the man how much he’d bought. The man scowled; he snarled; he gnarled, and left in a huff, calling the hungry hobbledehoy all manner of names that an adult shouldn’t call a child. The battered boy crawled to the food vendor and asked innocently, “what did I do wrong?” As he spoke, he pulled out a promising wallet, which lit up the food mama’s eyes. Said she, “Don’t mind that man. He couldn’t buy meat!”

400

This is my four-hundredth blog post. Since AR started, I have had crossovers into many themes, and, for about a week now, AR has identified itself as a Ghana, urban-culture blog. I admit that I do not even know all urban culture means, but I will learn every day, and I will keep my writer’s eye keen for the telling details everywhere. Thank you all for the blog miles between us. Here’s to more.

Otto Pfister

A German, septuagenarian football gaffer who tugged his tracksuit trousers beneath his behind. It had been Hip-Hop culture for a while, but Ghanaian youth named the craze for Otto Pfister. I had forgotten all about this, until the Hiplife star, Asem (and Caroline) brought it up in “Pigaro”. Now any male youth who comes to see the popular-culture fluorescence, must equip in low-slung trousers or shorts, scroll through the Otto Pfister phase, and sweep the streets with their trousers.

How Ghana Beat Sudan and Lost

I think the average Ghanaian solemnly swears that they are honest and benevolent; religious even. You all eyed the unified support on TV, as Ghana walked over Sudan to qualify for South Africa 2010. Many good citizens bled GHC 20 for a VIP ticket, but couldn’t get a place to sit. Many more vermin did not pay at all, but sat on other people’s GHC-20 perches. So, we stood throughout the game. I bet the usurpers would have ‘surrendered seat’ if the claimant were a foreigner (so they could lather the legend of Ghanaian hospitality!) Fools!

Kumasi Zoo

I would like to end “Kumasi” by talking fondly about its captive wild animals, but there’s no story in that. There are a few free-shitting Ostriches, slumbering Lions and Hyenas, pitiable Hawks and Vultures, etc. No Kumasianos (did you think I’d miss bringing it up?) flock to the zoo near Kejetia. The real story was this sign at the entrance:



LOL!!!!! So even in the “Close Season” the law refuses to protect the poor Akrantie, also known as Cane Rat or Grass Cutter. Bye bye, Majestic Kumasi! Next time, we might go to see the Asantehene.

Kiravi, Kilavi and Kay Vee

The cars are ranged with order in a spacious parking lot. In the chilly night air, three men flank the pinched entrance. We’re admitted for GHC 7 apiece. The anteroom yawns into three more rooms. The room on the right hides behind a closed door. Directly ahead is a vacant bar. On the right is the door to the club. Inside, the DJ’s box, the bar and black settees besiege the static dance floor. Pillars oddly screen the sitting area. The music is Dancehall (called Ragga) and Hiplife. I think they love “Simple”. The DJ drops crowd favourites over and over again. The collective fragrance is not sweet. Masculine BO chokes the air. Coarse tones are whispered everywhere in non-English. The bar stands mostly unemployed. Crashing glass sounds keep the time every few minutes. What there is a lot of, is sloppy, inter-dance snogging. It’s clustered thick as seeds. It’s time overdue to go at 1.30 a.m.