Blogcamp 13...is about Tilapia

Nobody can regale you with the savoury story of how to 'tooth' the char-grilled flesh off the skeletal frame of the Piscean, Tilapia, better than a Ghanaian/Ghana-resident. That’s why I blog; I know the pulse of Ghana; I sing her song.

Blogcamp 12 was a platter of soft-cooked Banku with devilish dollops of sweet pepper, shito and Kpakpo, and a greasy pound of queen tilapia tiara’ed with tomatoes and golden onions. A palette of pleasant people; soul-stirring storytellers looking for an audience with eager palates.

So what will 13 be like? Come Saturday, come hungry for fun.

Social Media

Year - twenty thirteen
Samsung - Tech Queen

Hangout - Facebook/Twitter
Reason - Flirt with not one jitter

Others? - Those mental dances
Pay-off - Network it enhances

You No Go Sort Me Out?

‘Chale, I dey go house wey my fuel short. Make you sort me out.’

Impetuous, inane, puerile ... thing; moulding pie with putrid hubris for filling. Demanding dough with a sense of entitlement. I stone-face him, power up the window and cruise down Spintex Road.

‘Oh, you no go sort me out?’ he barks.

He does not say ‘please’ once. In my rear-view mirror, he’s already trudging up Spintex Road.

I Don't Know What to Say

Are you saying somebody will find 100 Cedis and give it to the anti-social person? Are you really trying to stop a bad habit?

Flower Girl in the City of Accra

At Ridge, where Gamel Nasser Avenue deceives to fly over the Police HQ, I watched a tight, green, Afric-fabric frock ‘hallmarked’ with delightful petals...on a milk-choc mannequin on the move. Loose, flair-sleeves, rich-blue, florid frills like garlands on the neck. Sitting on her body like the immaculate skin of a flawless fruit. Frivolously creased at the hamper-hips, where the dress rode up. Why did she have to go and tug it downwards? Our little love affair was quickly done.

Chewing-Stick

I do it in private, not caring that it’s become a scorned ex-lover since the 1950s. On Saturdays, after Colgate and Listerine, I pull out a hard, light, chewable, juice-releasing stick of Tweapea, and sweep its budding bitterness over every milky spot of enamel. The flavouring flourishes into a fine, addictive tang. And teeth have never stood with more integrity after such tender care.

A Galaxy of Clothiers in the City of Accra

This threadbare city supplies its own golden gifts. Clothiers, clusters of them, in kiosks are hung on the corner of every street. Caftans, kabas and cardigans; suits, skirts and slits; jumpers, jackets, jumpsuits and jeans; they make them all. Frocks, tunics and pajamas too. And there’s a tailor/dressmaker for every epoch, pocket and preference. Only downside, your clothes will be ready in two weeks or three or six; it all means the same thing to them.