Its yours to gallop or sip

Saturday 13 December 2014

RED MEANS GO GO GO AND GO.......! !!!!!

(Episode 1)

Akushika had screamed again, she always emitted a loud cry from a bad dream each night over the past six months. Droplets of sweat rained down from all over her face and hair. Her mother, Maa Vic, extended the far right tip of her cloth to mop up the sweat while consoling her frightened daughter. Maa Vic's breast were left nude and large enough to pillow Akushika' s head. The kerosene in the lantern was running out, so the glow of light was weak and dancing in its glass shield. It cast funny shadows on the blue painted inner walls. Akushika directed her mother's attention to a reflection of an image on the wall which looked like a gliding snake, it was closer the legs of Bentum, her younger brother who was fast asleep. Her mother mastered enough bravery and took a firm grip of whatever item it was. Bentum gained a precipitous awareness and was aghast to find his little penis arrested in the firm prisons of his mother's palms. "But Maa, why would you hold my penis this hard", "it was moving out of your shots slowly like a snake", Bentum had questioned her mum in annoyance and his mum had replied with half shame and half fun. Akushika couldn't help but laugh, her mother joined the laughter and Bentum retired to sleep, he too was heard giggling under cloth. The lantern eventually lost its energy and the room was thrown into total darkness. Maa Vic gently lowered Akushika on her side of the mat and rested her head on the layers of books which served as pillows. "When again the dream comes, say blood of Jesus", Maa Vic had advised her first child and only daughter. Akushika nodded in affirmation and closed her eyes to sleep again. Maa Vic also rolled down the mat where she had cushioned it up with some cleaned empty flour sacs.
She lied backward down and facing the ceiling. She didn't blink an eye, she thought deeply about how sadly her husband had died on the streets of Accra while selling car dusters in traffic jams. She also missed, the numerous lies her husband, Jojoe, told her about the big city; the beautiful girls who drove heavy cars, the flying of aeroplanes over high rising structures, the young girls who sold sex for ghc3 and the kinds of Akushika who wore suits and worked in air conditioned offices, all these she thought was her husband's clever ways to lure her into following him to Accra, while it remained very impossible for her to leave her aged mother in the village alone.

The aurora broke through the little window into the room and the rays of heaven were brightly shedding the influence of day on them. Bentum threw his right hand widely across the room and it safely landed on the plateau of his mother's breast, which prompted her to an awkward awakening. "Ah who was that, why that slap? ", Bentum fetched his hand back and while yawning and stretching, said "I heard your breast snoring and I slapped it ", Maa Vic got a little angry in her response "foolish boy, have you heard a snoring breast before", the boy was eleven years old without a father, he was getting wiser quicker than usual, so he retorted "when did snakes learn to glide by nodding their heads" Akushika who was all this while lying down and watching the exchanges, questioned her brother to explain what that had got to do with the heavy slap he had given their mother. Bentum pretended not to have heard her and headed for the door, his mother who was changing into her working gears behind the door, denied him exit until he had answered his sister. When he knew matters weren't looking any funny any more, he said "didn't you arrest my penis which was obviously hard and nodding in the name of a snake, which snake moved with the head or lived in shorts"?. The trio burst into laughter again and the morning broke.
Akushika had started her usual chores of sweeping the big yard, she wore a faded cream coloured night-robe. It was a birthday gift from her father when she turned seven, it was the last gift she received from her dad before his demise, she always reminded Bentum of a lovely father he never got to know. She told Bentum almost everyday about the one Christmas she spent in Accra with their Dad alone. "Dad always carried me on his neck in the oxford street and showed me beautiful young girls who wore suits, worked in airconditioned offices and drove smart cars", she always repeated this statement, so many times that Bentum sometimes would end it before she completed her story. While she swept past the door of Abrewa Drowaa, her grand mother, she heard the blind old woman call her name in her dying voice. "Aku,Aku..", she ran quickly into her room to respond to the call. "Abrewa am here, how are you today"?, Aku had inquired but the old lady's face was so full of smiles which spoke contrary to her condition. She was only getting Aku the more confused, she threw her hands to reach for Aku but it missed and Aku caught it half way before it fell apart. "Abrewa what is it, you are scaring me this morning with your fulminant smiles", the old woman gave her a pat on the shoulder and said "I smell blood on you, you have seen the sun, you are finally a woman", Aku took a quick excursion around herself and truly she saw that the back of her dress blood stained. She quickly ran to her mum in the kitchen, screaming and crying for help, "Maa am bleeding, am bleeding", she held the stained dress and showed it to her mother. She had expected her to commiserate with her but her mother, just like Abrewa Drowaa, smiled and embraced her, she placed her mouth closer to the ears of Aku and said "you are now a woman, you shall see blood every month flow from your kaka, it means when you meet a man in bed, you will get pregnant", the mention of pregnancy hoicked Aku from her mother. She opened her mouth wide and her eyes twice as wider. "Aaah Maa then Bentum won't sleep on my mat again oo", Maa Vic gave a quick laughter and called out her mother, "Abrewa Drowaa, come and listen to your grand daughter ooo ooo".Aku felt nescient, she queried herself about what she just said. She didn't find any amusement in that and wondered why her mother couldn't keep her laughs. The old woman had entered the yard by the guidance of her walking stick and was also laughing even when she had not heard the comment. She laughed herself down the clay floor when Maa Vic finally met her with Aku' s decision not to sleep with Bentum because she feared pregnancy.
Abrewa Drowaa took Aku to a long lecture on menstruation and the menstrual cycle.
Akushika then drew a bucket of water from the well beneath the mango tree at the south side of the compound. The yard consisted of four brick structures, the first, which shared boundary with the main gate was the room for Abrewa Drowaa, she had chosen that particular room for peculiar reasons. Opposite that of Abrewa, on the west, was the kitchen, on the north was the room for Maa Vic and her children. The small room, near the well on the south, was almost always close tyled against all except Abrewaa Drowaa, who entered but once in every quarter of the year. She said it was their sacred and safe repository of all the hidden mysteries and secrets of their ancestors. Her husband, while he lived, was the grand shriner for the village and that particular room was his shrine, he cautioned Abrewa against the attacks of the insidious and advised she kept that room for safe rescue if the future caught up with her. Abrewa entered her room and dug deep into her antediluvian bag of archaic artifacts. She could identify them by rubbing her hands over them. Before Aku had finished bathing, her grand mother had gathered some items in the middle of the yard for a short ritual.
Aku was clothed in white gown, she was seated on the flat surface of a mortar, with a palm frond in her mouth. Abrewa prepared some black concoction in a calabash, while Maa Vic cooked a white egg laid by a duck. Bentum had been sent away from home, to fetch some firewood from the bush.
Abrewa came closer Aku and sat directly opposite her such that they both could communicate in undertones. It was still morning and the sun was high in the sky, cocks were best at crowing and hens couldn't run around to avoid under one minute affairs with cocks on heat. When Maa Vic brought the egg, she placed it in the right hand of Abrewa. "Aku, close your eyes and open wide your mouth", Abrewa instructed and Aku obeyed, she placed the egg in Aku's mouth and ordered that she swallowed the egg wholly without biting into it, for if she did, she chewed her own future children. Aku did her best in swallowing the egg painfully and her mother couldn't hide her joy at the fullness of her daughter's womanhood. Abrewa dunked her two index fingers in the calabash, picked a sample of the semi liquid black content and painted the face of Aku with it. She empowered Aku with some traditional trance 'You have today joined the many women who die every month and ressurrect a week after, you have learned the intricate windings of the waist of a mortar, you can now eat banana and bring forth plantain,.....' and on and on it went.
Abrewa Drowaa got up abruptly and grabed firmly the right hand of Aku and said "my grand daughter, rise, for today, red means go, go go go and go, go to the world and live ideally, for when this transitory life shall have passed away, you shall descend into earth without regret". Aku got up and was fully empowered, she wore smiles and thoughts played hide and seeks in her head.

Aku after some weeks, decided to move to the city. She could remember her father's words clearly "when you become a woman, you can always wear suits, work in air conditioned offices and drive smart cars in Accra." Aku was a woman now and was going to the city to have her fair share of the city life. She had been shown the red card which by her grand mother meant go, and so she was going and nothing would stop her. Not even her mother's tears would take her from her fate, she thought.

Stay tuned for episode 2.

Kweku Atta Crayon

Thursday 16 October 2014

THE FUNNY OLD DAYS I

MEMORIES OF THE FUNNY OLD DAYS
It was the fifth time I had yawned in thirty minutes, this time, my mum threw a knock and I veered to avoid it landing on my head. "When can you ever pray for 10minutes without yawning,Devil of a boy". She said with one eye opened and the other closed, in tinged voice.
My twin sister had rested her forehead on a pillar, her position appeared a seriously praying woman. I took few steps closer, to listen to what actually she was praying for. I filtered my ears and went little nearer, then I heard her busily snoring to God. Just before I could laugh, Osofo Twum shouted Amen. She woke up abruptly and her eyes traveled across the hall rapidly, as if she had lost her name.
When finally, she noticed my presence, she became aware of her existence on earth and in the church. My Mum looked us in a way only we two understood. Our mother could give us a book full of warnings and threats with her left eye and no one except her children would understand.
Sister Julie, the singing band leader, stumbled over the legs of my Mum when she sought passage to the pulpit for the mic. She was quickly supported by my Mum to prevent her from falling. "Oh thank you Mother Paulina", she said to my Mum. Sister Julie raised a beautiful song for offertory. My twin sister turned and asked me if I had the 50p my Mum had given me for offertory, I had bought toffees and was left with only 15p for God. My twin sister had also spent part of hers and was left with 30p. So while the whole congregation sang, we prayed a different woman came for the collection instead of our mother.
Very contrary to our prayer, came our Mum with the loose cloth bag, taking the monies from pew to pew. Just about two pews away from ours, I got up and tried walking my way out, I felt a jerk on my shoulder, lo and behold, it was my mother. "Give me your collection before you go out", and instead of the bag, she stretched her hand and opened wide her palms. Wahala don dey ooo.
Quickly I saw my sister moved from her pew to another where my Mum had already taken their monies. I dropped the coins in her palm, and she looked at me in those her eyes that said "YOU ARE DEAD WHEN WE GET HOME".

Thursday 25 September 2014

I GREW UP AROUND THIS TABLE


Our dining table round
It brings us around and bound
Seats not far from the centre reach
Six beautiful chairs, one for each
A table cloth to cover and adorn
It was colourful though one side torn
Our dining table smooth veneer
Carefully protected at least for a year
Red rose flower in the middle placed
Dad and Mum sat opposite faced

On the plateau of our dining table
Showed Daddy’s pocket was stable
Sugar, milk, milo, bread, custard
butter, fruits, peanuts and salad
We ate well and lived good
Watched cartoons of Robinson wood
We grew faster and soon were old
Then we saw everything go cold


First to vanish from our table was custard
Sarah didn't like it, she became blustered
Dad said our school fees had gone high
So Mum compensated with our chicken thigh
As days passed, so did our salad and fruits
No more cartoons,GTV showed a man with his flute
Mum forced us to join her  fasting
No more breakfast,water was lasting

We grew older to a naked table
Which was ripped off its cloth
We saw how the family unstable
And its veneer destroyed by moth
Today its broken and parked backyard
I smiled at it and kissed it back hard

By Kwaku Atta Crayon

Wednesday 3 September 2014

NOTHING LIKE FRIEND


(Everybody hurts)

In days of only sunshine without a shade
Kill sorrow, sweat blood for it paid
When the night is yours alone without a kiss
Stare into the stars but never a friend miss

Don't let yourself sink
Not even the ocean is deeper
Because everybody cries but think
This friend don't see, day sleeper
Paddle your canoe, never a helper
Sometimes everything is wrong
Clear your throat and sing a song
For no friend sells smiles or tears
So walk alone the miles without fears
Everybody hurts
Take comfort in yourself
Iron your shirts
and dress neatly thyself
Sit a date with a mirror
Talk, drink and smile clearer
And when you are angry with a friend
Never throw a hand,just frown lend
Its just not worth your loneliness
Try it, life is better with you alone.

Wednesday 20 August 2014

Faustina Ama Dadson


Faustina Ama Dadson

Whenever Ama passed the street
She said a greeting in a voice sweet
The boys won't blink an eye to the flies
She was just as beautiful as green skies

Ama always carried a bag of books
A serious student with humble looks
And when she spoke, a courteous girl
Her hair run down her butt in a curl

In fine, she had everything in herself
To make the girls wonder in themselves
So on, they worked harder for the light
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Faustina Ama Dadson, yesterday night
Was lying down the street bleeding and soul fled.

By Kweku Atta Crayon.

DELA

Dela

If you have seen me smile
tis because I will live for awhile
This poem has lost its virginity
to our lustful screens and vanity

Dela
peep into my pants
see for yourself if am still a man
it sleeps even at your chants
They say its common of our clan

Dela
You alone know what love is
unzip my heart, see if I have it

this feeling
stop
Dela
stop it
Dela pls
this feeling
I don't know it
but if you could give me more Dela
Okay stop, not more


Kwaku Atta Crayon

Thursday 14 August 2014

I AM A NORTHERNER

Author: Ruth Wewura Guribie

I am a northerner. And that is a shame, but please don’t blame me, blame God. He made me a northerner and didn’t practice democracy when he did so.
Perhaps there was a conference in heaven (or wherever babies come from) in which parents choose their children. Blame my parents and not me, I don’t recall being part of it, I don’t recall choosing mine - but hear me out, I am proud of mine.
But, maybe, given an option, I might have made a better choice, but I came as a northerner. This is the accidental badge of shame I carry, like all men, but mine is worse - I am a northerner.
Long before my parents made their choice, colonial thieves drew the map, it had nothing to do with me - they made me a northerner. No plebiscite, no Gallup Poll. With a stroke of the pen, they made their choice and made me - a northerner. My choice was never a part of it; they followed the stars and hit the mark - to make me a northerner.

My land of birth is great and vast, full of life and changing scenes. Sometimes arid, sometimes green. Most times dry and sometimes wet - it is the northern land. I don’t blame others, if they don’t know, but I make them angry for just being me.
My land is dry and breeds “no things”- but lush tomatoes, scented onions, hot peppers, and loads of grain, ginger and garlic. My land produces maize and beans; sugarcane, kola, sorghum, moringa and millet.  My pastureland is best for cattle, goats and sheep, best for donkeys, horses, and fowls of all kinds. These are part of the northern nothing.
The earth yields sheanut, melon and seeds. Once upon an ancient time, my land made groundnuts that built pyramids like Egypt land. The best of yams and potatoes breed; the best of beans and protein needs; yes, they’re nothing compared with oil - parlous insignificance to today’s gold. Whatever the north produced is nothing here.

I rile not those who produce cocoa, nor quarrel with those that grow their coffee. I bug not those whose rainforests produce the best of trees, timber and rubber and palm produce. Its nuts and fruits and lush red oil.
All I ask is live and let’s live and hold aloft our red, gold, green and black star. I don’t begrudge the vast rivers - that give more fish than the TONO DAM. I crave the taste of crabs and shrimps; I love the oil that powers boats, cars and moving machines. I love the tar that colours the road and lubricants that oil the wheels and burnish flesh.
Yet all I ask is live and let’s live, but nay they say we want you out. I am a northerner, to be seen never to whine, complain or hold my point of view.
I am a northerner, and everything I touch brings me shame. I love the land and fought for it. I love its make from my vantage point- the confluence of the Volta river, watching the evening sun throw the final arms of its glow, like rainbow shoots across the rest of motherland and even that they’ll take from me. For I am a northerner, who must see nothing, hear nothing and pretend to know nothing.
I am a northerner. Others are allowed to make their heroes, keep their heroines and turn their villains into saints but I am accused of political greed. I am the “grand daughter” of NAVRO-PIO KWARA KADATUA, but today, I am the butt of modern jokes.
I am a northerner, cousin of Hilla Liman. My uncles shed the blood that glued this nation. Yes, perhaps, not make professors per square metre but I made mine in quantum too. In NDEWURA JAKPA and NAA GBEWAAH I share my blood. I am a northerner, branded loafer, code-named parasite and forbidden to fight the label. I am never judged on the strength of my character, nor on my personal skill, for I am not supposed to have a brain, skill or character - I am a northerner.

If I drink, I’m called a drunk, and if I don’t, am called a “villager”. If I eat they laugh at me, if I don’t they say, let her starve to death if she will.
 I am the “daughter” of CHIEF S.D DOMBO, of unsung heroes and heroines, of brave hearts and royal Kings, of many tribes and many tongues. But when one Political leader errs, they say we are all incompetent; when one man allegedly fights another, they say we are all violent; when one man becomes the slave of a master, they say we are all inferior; when one woman chooses farmwork over education, they say we are all unlettered; when one woman is subjected to abuse, they say we are all timid and when one man takes a child and makes her his wife, we are all called paedophiles - because we are northerners.
The writer is the project officer for the Access to Justice Programme at the Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative. Her email address is: ruthlaic@yahoo.co.uk

Monday 11 August 2014

A RECIPE OF REDISCOVERY

(A narrative by Kweku Atta Crayon )

The man who brought her was of no strange face, I had met him twice. He was the father of two little girls who were under my care in going to and returning from school. The Dansoa Bruce. They had similitude in their facial appearances. So even before the headmaster had introduced her, I knew she was another of the Dansoa Bruces. More to her first day at Naraguta Grammar school, was her foreigness to the Tarkwa township. Her father called for assistance from any one of us who stayed at Tamso or its environs, to map her back home after school. Knowing their house very well, I volunteered to deliver that service. I took another look at the new girl and she was just as different as Lucifer’s first day on earth.

It was usual of anybody to invaginate on first day at a new school but the situation was adverse with Abeam Dansoa Bruce, so she was introduced. She easily diffused every of her fragrance across the class, answered as many questions as was asked, hit, laughed, smiled, frowned and even jumped from desk to desk. She, in no time had our English Master calling her an 'Extrovert'. She walked and talked like a baby doll ( obroni ba).
Abeam was our first female mate with unshaven hair, she had it not too long though and truth be told, her hair was almost always dirty except on Mondays when she had it neatly braided or trimmed and clipped.

On our way home after school, I asked where her two younger siblings were and she had to repeat herself thrice before I could understand they were in Accra and schooling and that she had also come from Accra to be with her parents.

As our days in school grew from Mondays to Fridays, so did our friendship. She soon became the most challenging girl in class; she rubbed shoulders with the big boys, of them included myself. She was extremely intelligent and unparrelled in her excellence at all ten subjects. Whiles some of us scored 35% in French, 41% in Fante, sometimes worse in Pre-Vocational Skills and 90s in the rest, she was maintaining an average of 75% in all ten subjects. Before time could label her, she had long earned herself some recognition and admiration from teachers and friends.

When we were nearing our BECE, our school hours were extended and we were closing as late as 6pm. Each of our academic days ended with an exercise called 'semi circle', this was a pedantic game in which our English Master assembled us in a semi circle and asked us questions in turns. One day, during semi circle, Abeam stood next to me, I had the armpit of my uniform torn, so when I had raised my hand up for relief, she managed to see my armpit and teased me for no growing any crotch hair. I felt belittled and wondered if she was older than me.

After our BECE, Abeam visited me in the evenings in my house, she lived in a 'self-contained house' and could only steal herself out at the absence of her parents. I lived in a 'compound house' with no gates and I could be like MTN. In those evenings, we went taking the air and talking. If by unplanned means we got to a dark corner, we stood there for few little kisses and sped off into the winds. Those moments were the best we could ever treat ourselves to.

Few Weeks after completion, Abeam enrolled in a computer school with Linda, a girl who lived in my neighborhood and I also started selling my mother's doughnuts( boflots). One afternoon, I was returning from the fire service office where my boflots were most bought and whiles struggling to climb the hill which links Tarkwa N'aboso to Umat basic school, with my glass sieve on my head, I heard a tinny voice call "boflot wura", I turned and it was Abeam. She had closed from her computer class. This time she didn't tease me but had a tete a tete with me until she branched to the station for a car. I quickly rushed to my mother's shop and dropped the sieve. I kept weeping within. My Mum questioned why I wore that sad face but I answered in silence. There and then, I knew I had shamefaced myself in the sight of Abeam. How on earth could I ever get closer again to my lover? So I shielded myself from her, I avoided her area and never passed the road where she was most likely to be seen.

Years took us to our separate secondary schools. Whiles in Ghana Secondary Technical School, I wrote Abeam a love letter which never was replied. We never saw each other again until after high school when I met her briefly. To this day, I have always wished to meet her, to stand her a man and still take her on those walks, I still long to kiss shortly in the dark.

Most surprisingly, I logged into facebook this morning to read a wisdom impregnated post from a lady called Bernice Bruce and when I viewed the profile, lo and behold it was my Abeam. I must meet this lady and give her a big hug. I have learned to say I still love you in big hugs Sisi Bruce.

Wednesday 6 August 2014

APEDWA GUEST HOUSE

Few minutes before our departure, a gentle man from the front seat,just behind the driver's, requested that we closed our eyes in prayer to Almighty God for traveling mercies. A lady seated next to me, had a garment that covered her head, just like a veil. I became certain of her status as a Muslim when she still had her eyes actively gazing through the windows whiles everyone else seemed closed. I am not a conformist to these mass prayers in public transports. So I also had mine opened, headphone on and listened to my somewhat sempiternal list of classical music. Mozart's collection always beguiled me, just after three composes of him, the player randomly picked 'Air on a String' by Sebastian Bach. That particular song is a berceuse and it always lulls me to sleep. Just about mid way the track, I tilted my back inclined in a position comfortable for sleep and in matters of seconds I had caught some Z's. Whatever I saw or heard thereafter, am sure was a dream.

I looked all lost after a precipitous regain of awareness from what could best be described a sopor. Rahinatu why has the bus come to an abrupt halt, I questioned the lady next. She showed two surprising front teeth, am not sure I could call that a smile, then she questioned back, How did you know am called Rahinatu?. Well, I just guessed. she coupled those teeth with her cheeks and it now looked similar to Michelle Obama's smile. I called my primary question back and she said "I don't really know but I should think its a slight mechanical fault", Oh that is bad, I just hope it doesn't take so much of our already exhausted time, I had followed up. I threw my eyes across and I could spot empty seats, it was apparent some passengers had got down to either refresh or join in repairing the broken bus. The seats behind and before ours were all unoccupied and I thought I could steal some privacy in engaging Rahinatu in my stupid talks. My lady do you...then the conductor interrupted with his course voice which sounded like a tired door bell, Please the damage is beyond first aid and so we will be sleeping in the bus over the night whiles we await assistance from the nearest fitting shop. His announcement did not only disappoint but also angered me, because he had just polluted a romantic soup I had started cooking in my head for the sip of Rahinatu's brain.

She quested that I adjusted my legs so she could get off the bus. Few minutes after I joined the road. It was already busy with scattered passengers, some who had carried food were seen eating, whiles others were just taking the air like Rahi. I had a bottle of voltic water and a digestive biscuit I bought from the VIP station in Accra. I imbibed just a little of the water. I had seen Rahi all alone by herself on the other side of the road behind the bus but decided to have some time to myself too.  I detached myself from the gathering, took some few gentle steps down south-side. I threw my head backwards and fixed my gaze on the black sky. It was adorned with a bold moon. The moon was governing the night with its illuminating abilities. I soliloquised a poem which had no words. I didn't know what I was saying but I sure was enjoying the company of the moon and some cold breeze from the silent forest.

I felt a saccade on my shoulders, it was Rahi. She was frigid and looked worried. I took off my jacket and insulated her soft body against the cold weather, She served me those two front teeth again, that was her own way of smiling in either gratitude or response to amazement. Later, I felt very cold too but man had to be man, so I kept talking and smiling even though I knew things were getting frozen within me.
Rahi called my attention to the majority of our colleague passengers who were walking down the road. I suggested we ascertained the course, they had received good news from  three snail hunters who surfaced from the forest. They were leading them to a guest house close at hand. We quickly dashed into the bus for our bags and followed them. About eight minutes of walking took us to an isolated unpainted structure. It was graphically labelled APEDWA GUEST HOUSE. We didn't need another prompt, it became plain that was going to be our rest for the night.

They were just five finished rooms for rent, we had to advise ourselves to sleep in groups of five or more. The situation demanded that we slept with respect to gender. The receptionist took advantage of the state of matters and monopolized the market. We paid ghc20 each in a room of six. I placed my bag in a wooden closet and came out to pass water, I turned whiles zipping up and I was facing Rahi, who was watching me from a short distance apart. She bashfully apologized and dispatched another dose of smiles. This time my candied words rushed from somewhere into my head. I took four steps closer her and asked why she was not in her room. She claimed she never slept in a room with so many strangers and feared insomnia. So what do we do, I cared and she felt accompanied now. Maybe I will join those left in the bus or hang around on the road, She sounded disturbed. I insisted to be with though she objected several times because she didn't want to cause me any discomfort.

Soon, we found loneliness on the road, our hands were locked in each others and we took loath steps. We whispered many words to ourselves, I never knew I was a comedian until that night came, I could make her laugh at each passing second. It got to a time when she laughed her head on my shoulder, gave me romantic slaps and followed it with an amatory stare into my eyes. The night kept passing and the winds blew harder and colder. She still was shivering even at the mercy of my jacket and needed a further protection. So we walked back to the guest house. Asked the receptionist if he could allow her to sleep in a room which was reportedly left untenanted for the occupancy of the owner of the guest house anytime he visited the village. He agreed on an amount of ghc50 which I painfully but manfully paid.
I mouthed her a good night into her ears and she frowned. She pleaded my company over the night. Jackpot, so I screamed in my mind voice.

She dumped herself on the bed, I came back from the washroom to find her half nude. I took off my shirt and jeans trouser and joined her on the bed. We continued our tete a tete and things got so romantic that we nearly kissed at some glances. Our lips were so close to each others that we could share a chewing gum. I looked at my wrist watch and it was 1:30am. I knew time was on athletic spikes and could reach morning sooner than usual and so I urged myself to be bold enough to begin action. I raised my right hand and gently placed it on her hips,for the third time, brought out those two teeth, I knew them and what they meant so I narrowed my lips closer hers, then she turned away from me, faced the other side. I felt really embarrassed. I breathed into my palm to check my breath and it didn't smell that rejecting.
I gave off a second try, this time I gathered my waist behind her butt such that my reared dick could feel her soft and succulent backside. Even worse, she repositioned herself to the far end of the bed, leaving an arms length between us. My erected stick started nodding in hunger and I started sweating in such a cold atmosphere. After two more failing attempts to get Rahinatu into romance, I finally gave up and also faced the wall.

Surprisingly sleep never found me, I wondered and languished all night. I picked my watch again and it was already dawn, 30mins had past 4am. It was when all hopes for romance had died out that I felt a hand crept into my singlet. I laid there so quiet as if I was long lost in sleep.She flowed herself around and enveloped me from the back, she kissed my shoulders and pressed her breast so tight against my body. A tiny voice within whispered to me that I rejected her like she did to me but I warned that voice to stay back, though it kept growing in pitch. Just when I had decided to turn to grab her lips, a knock landed on our door, I rushed to see who sought admission and it was the receptionist. He had come to inform us that the bus had been fixed and all passengers seated and waiting for us, he had forgotten we had checked into a separate room. We hurriedly dressed up and hastened towards the bus.

We entered the bus with guilty faces and Rahinatu couldn't raise her head up. One man at the back seat passed a funny comment, " eeeeh Apedwa Guest House really can be fun", it threw everyone into laughter ad others joined in the commentary, some said, young Men of today can be smart, an elderly woman looked at me and said though I look innocent, she was sure I performed well in bed, Rahinatu whose head was bowed in shame, kept laughing knowing that nothing really happened.

By Kwaku Atta Crayon


Thursday 31 July 2014

PERFECTING ASHLARS

From the manuscript of "PERFECTING ASHLARS"...... An Operatic Poetry Play
by Kweku Atta Crayon

Scene 4.
( Faryali emerges from the convenient room adjourning King Kumboki's sacred chamber, in his left hand is a 24 inch gauge and a common gavel and in the right is a chisel. The light is illuminated and Haruq Adiq is seen descending the winding staircase from the Sanctum Sanctorum of the Temple)


Faryali (recitation in high spirit)

Oh Master of this noble craft
By thy pencil life exists
Lines are marked for this intended structure
Your words tickle my brain
and I can't help but work
Do you see a stain on my lips
One whose breast is safe
for the repository of my secrets
My right hand on left breast
Suffice me to say, yours is better shielded
against the attacks of the pernicious

Ears I bring without mouth
Eyes I offer without tongue
On your call, I have submitted
this humble self of mine
To listen but speak not
to see but picture not
Thy servant wait.


Haruq Adiq ( majestic recitation)

Words have climbed up here
The walls have seen
Your Fellow craft men are witnesses
Great works you done
I need not employ the Heavens
It is the hope of wages that
sweeten labour
This sun has called you
from labour to refreshment
and thy have obeyed
Let laziness not arrest you
at the call of the moon

I bring you corn and oil
thy fruits of thy weekly labour.
Let this benefit first God
Thy Neighbour and thyself
For man is human when he understands
why the day is in 24 hours and not 32


Both Faryali and Haruq Adiq ( aria)

For Man is human when he understands
why the day is in 24hours and not 32
For Man is human when he understands
why the teeth is fully grown in 32 and not 24

Friday 20 June 2014

God Speaks,Listen

Wednesday Services always were a bore
And last week our attendance was only four
But the message came so divine and hot
It filled me and in spirit I was caught
Pastor said God still speaks to Men
It was a tired truth but doubting Ben
He said do your best to listen and obey
We screamed Amen but Ben grinned Okay

Wednesday evenings after services
We do  drink up and  each  disperses
At any one sip of the coca cola
We bowed to fine tunes of  the viola
Shared Testimonies of a God who speaks
And the blessings that came in streaks
To He who listens and Obeys
In his Life it comes in many ways
As the moon smiled and walked by
We knew it was time to say guys bye

Ben took the busy street to his house
He reached a shop and thought of his spouse
God what should I buy for her?, then a tiny voice
"Indomie noodles" trust me,its her choice
Hahaha, God is that You? Ben wondered
But She never took Indomie, He pondered
All the same I will for once Obey
I need my own testimony today
So he did buy and happy he went
He walked past a house then again the voice
"Knock and deliver the noodles, just rejoice"
Ben laughed so loud and said this must not be God
We both knew this was for my wife not some clod
He stood there staring the house which looked deserted
The instruction grew louder within and he just adverted
Fineeee God, but if anything funny happens am out of church
Visit some shrines or gods and the many spirits I will search

He knocked lightly but a hard reply
Who is that? and the door a man pry
Sorry Sir, I have come to these Noodles Supply
The man grabbed them quickly and invited him
Ben entered,a baby was crying and mother singing hymn
"Julie here is hungry and wants noodles but we out of cash
My wife sought assistance from a lady who proved helpless
She didn't have money either and her husband's phone was off"
I prayed and my wife said God will send down an Angel
I demand of thee, are you His sent Angel?" The man asked
Ben's lips were heavy and just couldn't speak but Goodnight

He rushed down home
Honey where is your phone,  wife looked worried
He checked his pocket and it was off, am sorry
I have been trying to reach you
I needed noodles to help a lady
Ben broke down in tears, so it is true
We have a God with mouth, so get ears

By Kweku Atta Crayon ( Oppong Clifford Benjamin)

Wednesday 14 May 2014

AN APPLAUSE FOR MY MUM

Just a single room back in the days
No light, television,you said patience pays
One fat mattress, one huge alata blanket
One corner of same room,utensils parked in a basket
Another corner, three Ghana-must-go bags
Behind the door, a hill of dirty rags
Until you stayed with us in the rainy seasons
You wouldn't know their use and the reasons
If the rains came in the afternoon
When no one at home, our room,a lagoon
If a relative visits, Mum shared the bed
We slept bare floor with books to support our head
Mum,this is how far we have come
Can we applaud and chew gum

War befalls the one who doesn't wake up at six
Insults, anger, canes and on lucky days kicks
Unless Brother Mic, the pharmacist down the street
Confirms you are ill and needs more rest to treat
What didn't we sell?
Where didn't we vend, except hell
Early morning bankye ne abro moree (Cassava and corn dough)
In the afternoon, 'bans boflot' (doughnuts )
And the evening krazine (Kerosine)
Mum this is how we have come
Can we applaud and tell some


What tears didn't we cry
Which effort didn't we try
Any route we didn't ply?
Yet Christmas and Easter
were simply the only times
We ate jollof rice and chicken thighs

Those Sundays you sat on the last pew
In your heart were many but in hands few
Ready to run home without disturbance
At the mention of harvest or 'Kofi ne Ama'
The body was willing to serve but the pocket weak
Yet you never stayed home, worshiping every week
Those funny Sundays, you broke a note into many coins
Please this is for God not toffees, she would enjoin

This is how far we have come Mum
Can we applaud and dance
to the rhymes of the future.

By Kweku Atta Crayon........On Mother's Day.

Thursday 17 April 2014

Our Artificial Africa

Our Artificial Africa

When the birds were heard rapping
Stead of singing and wings flapping
It was obvious somethings had gone wrong
And nature wouldn't have them to its belong

When Coca cola had replaced coconut
Our women dress fine somewhat
Men feel more presentable in suit and tie
Take every drink with a meat in pie
Africa had lost its touch
And now we talk too much

When I stopped walking the path
To Papa Akrofi's house for my math
Mum no longer visited her friends
Phone calls and even that it depends
If you go to school with food in leaf
You are teased,on lucky days its brief

Now that we are manufacturing another Africa
To look more beautiful like America
Let us keep quiet to the  western sufferings
When our every problem is under political coverings
And Mothers birth no children but rather offsprings
When it is more profitable to invest in soccer
Than in education and feeding of some Ugandans

By Kweku Atta Crayon

Tuesday 25 March 2014

My Single Story Of Nigerians

MY SINGLE STORY OF NIGERIANS
( Malicious Defrauders Until the Poets Came.)

Just some few minutes ago a very good friend of mine in Florida, USA sent me a message about how she has been codded by a Nigerian guy. The guy who has always played the Mr. gentle and Saint game all these while has had his way into deceiving a struggling woman. He is a $500 rich fraudster.

The above story also reminded me of my past encounter with a man of same attitude. Some where in 2010 I was so desperate to study abroad, I started searching for universities in the USA and China, at a point in my search I clicked on a link which beeped "scholarship for African students, Study in USA and UK for FREE". This sweet link directed me to the blog of my supposed angel. It had a long form for scholarship and another for admission to any university of my choice, I hurried through the registration and just a day after an email of confirmation was received.

It was so positive that I thanked God for the come true of some dreams. About three days later another email was received in request of some credentials which included my Wassce results, my TOEFL, cover letters and transcripts. I went through all possible means to harvest these documents. The day I had my transcript I assured myself I was soon going to be an undergraduate student of North Carolina State University.

The process went on and on to the crucial point where payment was inevitable and I had gained the trust of the other person whom I never had known excerpt through emails and the fake website of the school. First it was the admission dues of $50. Which was quite insignificant. So I quickly paid into the account number given. Another email dropped affirming my payment and I was informed the School will review my admission forms. This message sent me into some serious daily prayers. I needed God to show me my admission letter even before the school sit to decide.

Just a month later, a very beautiful congratulatory message came dancing in my mail. I was admitted and the future had arrived. In the same message I was informed that there had been cases where students got the school's Visa Application letter and never really attended the school upon arrival in America so to confirm my seriousness I will be required to pay half of my school fees and the scholarship will take care of the other half and my accommodation expenses before the letter would be issued to the America Embassy in Ghana, of which a copy will be sent to me.

Who was I to doubt at that point where America seemed just a stone throw away from me. Again Man had to enter every hole, cave and sea to conjure some dollars from nowhere. The amount was paid and that ended the whole deal. The email address which I was communicating through stopped working, my own email address was blocked and the school website became non-existing url.

I stayed indoors for more than a month, and wept bitterly for been fooled. I told a friend who was so conversant with the internet and he screamed "OOOOOHHHHH CLIIFFFF YOU HAVE FALLEN PREY TO SOME INTERNET PREDATORS IN NIGERIAN"

I was particularly shocked when he showed me the same chain of messages I was receiving and some more. He went further to show me how to determine the IP address of an email to know the location of the sender and when we checked the IP of the email address it was Ojo, Nigeria.

There and then I pledged never ever to trust any Nigerian. Until recently I met the positive ones. The ones who brought the poetry side of me and even went further to call me a brother. Had it not been these Poets I still would have remained of the view that Nigerians are fraudsters and cannot be made friends. But am glad I went through this experience and it is my prayer that my friend also console herself and learn a lesson.

Thursday 20 March 2014

How Much Is Life?


How much is Life?

I often have wondered how to die
That is, if it was the best option to cry
Wings if sold,would have buy to fly
I have seen tears descend on contoured faces
Life without a whistle has offered me many races
I run,swift and very Usain to be known the loser
I have many persons to blame,always a good accuser
Life itself is not worth me
God or god please let me be
or better deprive me of the chance to exist
If not so, then be calm whiles your commands I desist
Sometimes I wish I could shout to quiet all
Sometimes I wish I had no name or face at all
Sometimes I feel like stealing my life
With a gun,poison,suicide or simply a knife

My best shirt was someone's rags
My girl friend is someone's Ex
My prostitute friend was once a virgin
My account balance was someone's church offering

And when it stops for a minute
I think about things that are minute
And when it gets better for a minute I think about things that I really dont have to.

Tell me How much is Life, I will buy one for myself.

By Kweku Atta Crayon

Friday 14 February 2014

11 + - 11......

We stood there at the parade grounds with our all neat Monday school looks. Though my uniform was older than me, I still made sure it always was the greatest. Fuseni, who stood right behind me, playfully would dip his hand into my back pocket as if to rob me and at each time he did that I would turn and say "ooh stop it", "what have you to lose" would be his response.

The school prefects stood on a square block platform in front of the assembly. From there they conducted the morning devotion. It always followed the same procedures. The senior boys prefect would clear his course throat and shout with that his tiny voice "Eyes Close", the girls do most obey the command but we the big boys at the back would bury our faces in our palms allowing gaps within our fingers. There was this fair girl in class five, her father was the head teacher and rumours had it that she once lived in the UK and was the boys prefect's rose flower. It was obvious why he always called her to give the morning tune, and trust me, she got the voice of Lucifer, tiny, sweet and melodious (Gentle Jesus, meek and mild), "ready gooo" the prefect will scream just after the tune and we will all fall in the choir to pollute the song with our cockroach voices.

Mr. Bediako most of the times patrolled the back lines to check those who misbehaved at parade grounds with his cane called 'abaa kofi' (the longest cane in the school).

"And lead us not into emmation and forgave us our tlespassing" . . Mr. Bediako shouted from behind "Stop it, stop, Yes...Fuseni recite it alone". The whole grounds went into cemetery silence awaiting the explosion of some bombshells from Fuseni. As his best friend I knew for sure Fuseni wouldn't let out a word and certainly he folded his lips into his mouth. One thing Fuseni was popular for was his ability to take countless lashes of Mr. Bediako's abaa kofi without a tear drop. So when he refused to recite the Lord's prayer, the next action was apparent.

The matching song was again given by Laureen following the command of her Alex(the boys prefect). The Kindergarten clases were first to leave, followed by class one up to class six, the JSS pupils normally don't match, they just would walk to their class after we all have left. 

As it was the tradition of the school, every Monday was for class tests. We entered our class room and the arrangement of the desks had been disturbed. Some chairs stood on others and some tables also were climbing others. We all knew it was the class two pupils who had been allotted to sweep our class every morning. Quickly and angrily our class prefect with other big guys hurried to the class two room and ordered for the job to be redone properly under the supervision of their raging eyes.

Some minutes after the classroom was brought to order, Mrs Akpabli entered, she greeted us in a smiling face and swiped his finger across her desk, obviously it was dusty, Esther rushed to her desk with a duster and did the cleaning.

Mrs Akpabli, instructed us to bring all our books and bags forward, then and there we knew it was another early morning stubborn class test coming our way. We opened our exercise books to the very middle pages and tore double sheets each. " 1. Don't forget to write your names on your booklets. and 2. " No cheating,... we all said it before Mrs Akpabli could continue.

Mrs Akpabli called Fuseni and insisted that he took the exams on her desk, far apart from the class but Fuseni objected based on grounds that he too was one of us and could not stand been treated differently. So after some minutes She allowed him to sit behind me, She knew very little about the rather secret friendship that existed between me and Fuseni.

Our Madam, started pouring on the chalk board some ten maths questions on sums, subtractions and multiplications. They were as simple as the examples we had solved the past Friday, everybody answered the questions happily, including Fuseni who had not even called me for a help. We all finished within tens minutes out of the thirty minutes given time.
Mrs Akpabli went round and realized we took them so cheap that the questions had lost its value as a class test, so she quickly added a eleventh question.

(11) 11 + - 11 =
We were only familiar with the simple ones and we never had met the combination of addition and subtraction. So immediately she wrote the question the whole class screamed, I frowned. Mrs Akpabli promised that anyone who got the eleventh question correct would be mentioned the best student and would be presented at the closing Assembly for gargantuan claps.

Five minutes after the eleventh question, she shouted stop work and started taking the papers from the front roll, Fuseni tapped my shoulder and asked what my answer was, I turned and said undertone "nothing" , Fuseni then wrote zero in the blank box. And tapped me again, this time he enquired if I was sure the answer was nothing, I laughed and before i could explain to him that by "nothing" I meant I didn't answer the question, mrs Akpabli had long taken his sheet away.

Mrs Akpabli, shared the papers among us and together we answered the questions one after the other, each time a question was answered we all would mark the paper on our desk, finally it got to the last question and Mrs Akpabli called the Class prefect to give his answer and He said 22, others too said 11, and when it got to me I said madam I didn't answer it. Behind me was Fuseni and Mrs Akpabli asked him and he said "Madam me I writed zero" .....In a surprised face she shouted "YESSSSSS, Fuseni you are right, the answer is zero"
She quickly requested for Fuseni's paper to verify and Lo and behold Fuseni had scored all correct.

Madam kept her words and announced Fuseni the new Class prefect and cleverest in our class at the closing Assembly ceremony. On the Way home, Fuseni was seen walking with Laureen the beauty of the School and the boys prefect's eye was red.
Today Fuseni and Laureen are both in the University of Ghana studying Law and are still together in love.

By

Wednesday 5 February 2014

The Cassava Too Is A Fruit

We lived and grew beneath the soil
Joyful in our minds that we toil
To someday come out us cassabreties
Signing autographs at festivities
Shoulders lifted up high
Teeth pushing out when saying 'hi'

It was morning, we heard harsh knocks
First time disturbed in our sweet underworld
The ants and termites say, “They can't be visitors”
True, they started hitting with rocks
We run deeper into the soil and curled
We have fallen prey to wild predators!

Uprooted us from our homes
Like it was their own
We had no say, first time seeing 'red and white monkeys'
Before we could fight for what was ours
The red pepper and tomatoes had long sold us
For mirror, cloths and gun powder

And they introduced themselves
“We here are from Overseas
Have come to explore and oversee
We are called the fruits
We make skin fresh and smooth
Our brethren in suits are legumes
They will be the masters in the checkrooms”

“Who are you black ones?”
No one sabi their question
So we started laughing
“Ok, You will be the cassava
You are starchy and strong
Will build ships in the sun
And cook the meals in the rains”

Exported us to the west
Used, maltreated and waste
Our joy is a cassava now rules the fruits
But, can a cassava be ever a fruit?

Monday 3 February 2014

Minutes with a Dead Friend

(By Kweku Atta Crayon )

I know its you coming, but must you keep blowing
all my papers away and shutting the door like you got issues with me. Look you got the curtains flying outside. Ok calm down man, I know why you here.

                   I know

February is here

Love
Love
Love

Is all that I hear

But I know what we knew

                             14th February, 2010
                             we drank, ate and you died


Am sorry I had to lie about the news

                          Truth be said, your family would have rued


And as St. Valentine comes with his love shit
Many will wear red and I too will wear a red fit
But unlike them, I mourn a friend


           Tonight I know Sandra will phone in
           And request a coffee date at that same inn
                           
                        I know you would like to pick your revenge
But hey, I got you covered on avenge

You see, since you walked on
She keeps saying, Cliff that was a mistake
I say fuck that, did you know Cris was gonna be a Hon.
And she got the nerves to scream back, that girl is snake

I was the Eve and you foolishly became the Adam
Man, forgive me, am pissed off

                                         But hey, anytime I try it
                                   I got my whole brain telling me NO
I know i was suppose to be a murderer in 2011, 2012 and 2013
You have my word Bro, 2014 won't be any timid
Am gonna pull that trigger, I ain't got limit
                                  Tonight you will meet Sandra in hell
                                   And though I will be a prisoner
                       I will rejoice because I served a brother well

Saturday 1 February 2014

She Left with My Saturdays

 (By: Kweku Atta Crayon )

Another Saturday is here and it makes me miss her the more. I am sitting at the windows and eating the morning sun rays. That's where she normally would come behind me and ask in her melodious voice, "what would you take for breakfast besides the sun" and we both would discharge those funny laughs. Sometimes I turned my head to grab her lips for our first kiss of a Saturday, other days she would deposit her head on my shoulders, resting all her conscious heart, knowing well that she was safe in the shoulders of a beloved one. With me she said she had no worries and could spend her entirety only sleeping in my heart.

"Cliffy" that was how she called me and no one else dared called me same, she would scream at the person and say "please am the only one who calls him by that name and don't ask me why because the answer lies in our hearts"

She made life seem like the ones the characters in an Indian love movie lived. I didn't have to worry about anything for everything she would turn into a music.

I miss her everyday but it gets worse on Saturdays night. It either began in my room or hers. She would send me a whatsapp message "Am taking care of the night" and though I will be happy I would intentionally reply "my dear No, you can't spend on me, am the man"...."come on, then am not going, lest I do the spending tonight", she would respond and I would jump to the ceiling, convinced that my last ghc20 was safe for the next week.

She would turn swiftly like a model and ask me "hey how do I look?" I would clip my thumb to the next finger and place it on my lips and cut it across to say " perfect". You know my dear, one thing is true and it is that I am proud of the woman in you and outside you. Beauty.......heerrh stop it there, she would cut in. "If I don't stop you we will end up in another poetry performance in this room" she would say and burst into laughter. "But my dear, am proud of you as a Poet" she quickly would add.

She had this taxi driver friend, she would call her and away we gone to our favourite spot. We sit over sticks of khebab and some many bottles of assorted drinks.

We would drink and talk heartily, at some minutes we laughed, others we would discuss more serious issues which mostly included our education, life after school, our flamboyant marriage and our sweet unborn kids. We knew the gender of our kids and we always named them. I remember one night she said our first born would be Doreen and I questioned if it came a boy and she said, have faith, we want a girl first born and we broke into that our lovely laughs which called attention from the surrounding customers. A gentle walked to us and in a broad smile said "we have been watching you guys from our table and it is interesting, you guys make a happy couple" and we laughed.

We had smart wrist watches but we always measured time with the moon, just because we both loved playing with our predictions and anytime she won it generated another 'I woonnn, I won hits and teases' and I would play the cool gentle loser game.

Our Saturdays would normally end in a deep sleep on her bed. Her hostel was the one for rich students, one-in-a room. For mine, we slept six-in-a room and that was when we didn't have anyone perching.

We would sleep like loons and wake up when the sun had taken over from the moon. She would wake me up and serve me a breakfast on bed. And said it is Sunday, do what you know I would want my man to do.

Let me stop here I only wanted you to know a Saturday with my a friend who left me without a word about her whereto

Friday 17 January 2014

CLASS 3 PRINTING FEE

He stood in a tired uniform
Well ironed and tucked
And his shorts fusiform
Today was exams day
and he couldn't wait to write

He walked to Mum in her room
for the usual morning blessings
But His Mum tried to tell him
that he probably should stay home
He bowed his head and she threw her eyes away
They both knew why, and why it was best to stay

But He knew what to say
To tell his teacher's cane
and his mates who might laugh again
Of why he will write but can't pay

His Mother knew this would be another day
when her second child will end education
And chase after life around the traffic light
She sensed the aroma of history
Repeating itself today and tried harder to keep him at home
But the little boy went to school
ready to tell all about why he will write but can't pay

They were many kids
All seated in arranged lines
and he saw the blank desk.
It was Obvious Kweku wouldn't come

One by one, the teacher
inspected their printing fee receipts
Some showed a full year, others for the term
And he sat there hoping to do magic

At last the teacher got to his desk
And every child was searching
With their faces covered with laughs
An old story, he will be thrown out again
And certain he knew today was a landmark

Show me your receipt, the T requested
If you don't have go home, a boy retorted
No printing fee, no paper, another dared to shout
And now, they all teased

"am sorry you will have to go home"
He stood up and looked backed
Opened his mouth as if to cry and again he shut
"Go on, do you have anything to say?", the T asked

In tears, he closed his eyes
Clapped both palms together
And like a humble prayer,he said

"I don't want to be like Kwabena, my elder brother
who lost his education on this same day
and whose daily bread is  now oven
by the red light on the street.

I don't want my mother to keep wishing for graduates
Yet cries to the truth that she couldn't afford one
I don't want any of my mates here
think am dumb without a chance to prove myself

Don't talk of my father, he is long resting
And heaven is far away from earth
He too had a task for me, become an engineer
Please Sir, Allow me education
One day we both won't regret.

This minute, you are deleting a future
This minute, you can create a destiny
This minute break the rules
To make an engineer, and Heaven will smile.
This is my humble plea"

He opened his eyes to his ultimate dismay
Every eye was already flooding
and the teacher apologized and promised him his help henceforth.

Her Mum, took the exams question
and asked; how did you do it?

Now he is a civil engineering student
An Award winning Poet.
and the author of this particular piece.

Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin. ( From "My Family and Money")

Monday 13 January 2014

FACTS OF LIFE ( A talk With Integrity Youth Club, Tamso,Tarkwa)

Friday Morning or true to say Friday dawn, the waking call came from UN Wygon Blazez (Our Chairman). And he wanted me to give a talk on our regular meeting which came off the following Saturday.

The proposed topic was 'FACTS OF LIFE'. I guess we know Life itself is a fact, come to think of the Facts of Fact. Well who was I to deny a duty, I did my best to gather ten facts which correlated with our deeds as a society of young men.
After a rather successful meeting,the chance was given for questions and our dear Chaplain John Ampah suggested that I post the whole talk here on our facebook page for the benefits of the absentees. So if you are reading this here, it is courtesy John.

1.It hurts to love someone and not be loved back, but it is most painful to love someone and never find the courage to let the person know your feelings.
You are not wrong to be thinking about the love that exists between a man and a woman, however it is the contrary here. Am talking about the love for our fellow brothers. It is a pity that society has taught us to only love the opposite sex but I tell you that, I have since 2006 enjoyed true love not from my lady friends but a male one. And It is an undeniable fact of Life that Love shown a brother births better rewards.

2. The Best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch swing with, never say a word and then walk away feeling like it was the best conversation you've ever had.
In our noble fraternity, everyone is a friend but I live to confess that there is a friend indeed and a friend in need. A friend in need is a friend indeed. (NB: 'indeed' is ambiguous, and has been used interchangeably) That is the friend who will visit you in times of sorrowful challenges and will sit by you without verbalizing a word, yet you feel the love his presence brings.

3. The people that need you need in Life are the ones that need you in theirs.
Must you keep moving to a house you are not welcome just because you feel good in there, do you want to know what they say no sooner than you had left? "Doesn't he has a house,nkwasiasem". Yes they call you Kwasia because they need you not in their lives, take time, get to know the people that care and like you as you are, get closer to them regardless of their status and with them you will find the secrets of happiness.

4. When Life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show Life that you have a hundred reasons to smile.
In Integrity, most members are high school / technical school leavers and some are still home for whatever reason I deem worth the stay. It is a very challenging period to see some of your mates climbing the educational ladder whiles you sit at the same level. Well, let me in my own experience tell you that, it is far good or better you are there. Life is giving you a tear to cry but give life a smile to laugh because he who climbs late falls not like early, you will learn from the mistakes of hasty climbers. Mind you hasty climbers make a sudden fall. Never a teardrop, never a worried face and never your jaw in your palm, keep your head straight and up, smile and live whiles you beat Life at the game.

5. Always put yourself in the other's shoes. If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts them too.
Teasing has come to be a part of guys and so it is an attachable part of our association. However teasing can be very expensive and can break the unity and brotherly love that bonds us together. Therefore let us be advised that, before we pass what is suppose to be a comic comment, let us first put ourselves in the shoes of the person the comment goes to, if it hurts us then it hurts the person too, hence silence should be the remedy.

The remaining five will come later, am running out of online time

YOU COULD PREVENT AN ALTERCATION

YOU COULD PREVENT AN ALTERCATION
(Cliff Human Relations Lesson 23)

The list is countless in truth, I have quarreled my roommate on innumerable cases. It ranged from his forgetfulness to leave the keys at the porters lodge to littering the room. Sometimes our quarrels result in two weeks or worse variances, we would not talk with each other and the room would turn into a cemetery or best to say we turn to temporal dumb and deaf.

Until one day I grew up and accepted the blames. I said Cliff you should know how to point out someone's mistakes.

During one of our silent days, I entered into our dirty and offensively malodorous room. My heart started swelling out of anger, I threw myself into my bed and warned my lips to stay zipped lest I cut my tongue off, and I calmed down till I could find wisdom drizzling on my tongue.

I could hear the door opened so I lifted my head to see who was entering, lo and behold it was him (my roomy). I could read from his eyes that he was ashamed to have again committed the same mistake I had spoken against several times.

Ben, I called out his name and he failed to respond, he knew what was next ( another hot quarrel, which we both never enjoyed). He answered upon a third call and I said, I am sorry I kept a stinking pair of shoes beneath my bed, I guess that has caused this ill-scent in the room. I was tired last night after school. " Oh Cliff, you think is the shoe, well I guess its the dirty bowls I have not washed since last week, I will do so right away". This time I was surprised to realize we both could be humans enough.

Ben washed the bowls and swept the room, I mopped up and we both worked happily and has since remained very cooperative roommates ever.
Never go hitting someone's mistake hard on his face, hoping to make a change. I tell you he will fight back.


Wednesday 1 January 2014

A LETTER OF DIRECTION

Do the spirits of our ancestors still hear our cries? Do they understand English? Do they have Facebook accounts or blogger? Have we lost the connection with the very people whose blood flow through us? Do they know that we walk on bituminous asphaltic roads and fly in the air like witches did in their time?
Sometimes I get a sentiment that our ancestors visit the land and they don’t seem to discover their root and their own blood children. They get lost in the walls, supermarkets and the busy streets. They go back to the grave and sleep again in total astonishment. Me,I want to see my grand mum again so I have written her a letter of direction.

A Direction to Nana

We are still here
Your voice we hankering to hear
Mum said we no more pray you
Must you keep drinking schnapps to rue?
Nana, things have changed ooo
The huts have lost their security
we not even safe in these heavy stones (blocks)
Where you left us, is now called the village
and nothing good gets down there
We too wanted to eat electricity,pipeborne water and good healthcare
Nana,next time when visiting,
Go to Asomdwe park, see ghost Atta Mills
He recently left, he must show you Accra

Nana, you will see this white house
When you hear a quarrel, good then you home
When you hear big English, it is that of the mayor
You will see a woman with a wrinkled face
Clearly defining poverty and hardship
You will see food served on the floor to be picked
Nana, then be sure you are home.
When you see a long convoy
dancing in wailing sirens
And lights all over
Nana wave too, is the president passing
Nana,look left, right and left again
To check that you safe
Before you enter, today we are followed.
Boys now kidnap everybody including ghosts too.
WELCOME HOME NANA.

Written By: Oppong Clifford Benjamin to his great grand mother Nana Nyamenakye)

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