Country of Necrophiliacs

This dead president's legacy may be immortal. Yet, the leftovers are a common corpse. We clownish-clash over which family has the title deeds to the esteemed cadaver and what pencil of land it will lie six feet under. Why? We are a country of necrophiliacs.

Illegal Mining Affecting Girls

Illegal mining in a needy district should blow boys' education into smithereens. But why is it dynamite for damsels too? 'Galamsey Boys' are youthful, loaded, walking neon lights. They bedazzle the girls to choose the procreative trimester over the academic one.

Education Failure. Yes Sir.

Teacher:                    Two plus two equals 4. Understood?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Should I go over again?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     But all of you understood it?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                    Computer.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Skyscraper.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Pathetic.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Mo te m'asee? (Do you understand me?)

Pupils:                        Dabi (No!!!!!!)

Street Animal

Self-reproach is when you catch your thoughts not sparing a moment for the people who work in the streets. But how do you feel touched for the construction worker who’s savagely shovelling rocks and scoring hits on passing cars.

He looks up surprised at each cling and clang. The scowl on his ferret-face says how dare we steer our cars to hit his precious projectiles! How I wish a raptor or ‘saurus would drag him back into the cave he crawled out of this morning!

Bootlick Airlines

Cowering on a thirty-minute flight, meditating on how long it took for a light plane to bite the dust (in these days of mishap), I was squirming – and not just me – at the slimy gallons of apocryphal adulation the cabin crew poured all over a minister of State in the faux-glorified business class separated by a flimsy blue curtain. “Welcome, Honourable Minister, ladies and gentlemen.” “Have a pleasant flight, Honourable Minister...” “Goodbye, Honourable Minister...”

Flimsy Banku Buffets

Perched at the buffet saloon of a shiny hotel on a soggy Kumasi night, sampling senseless delights and wondering woolly whys the local chophouses don’t offer as-much-as-you-like banquets to he-who-goes-there.

The Mental Fence

When I was in primary school

And being smart was still cool

They'd group clever kids in one class

And  stragglers in the quicksand mass

The best they'd call Class Yellow or A
The worst class, D or Grey

They ran two tracks of intelligence

Separated by a mental fence

Class A reached the good high schools

To the rest, they gave hand tools

Nobody got a second chance

To outgrow the Childhood Trance