The Peppering Reality


They claim if a woman buys a gun, it is kept in the room of a man. Nonsensical nonsense! I feel the men who lived in those times and still exist in the now need refurbishment of brains in order to see where their “waatonkyene” vehicle is now parked to gift them a clear vision of the polished Limousines and V8s parading the streets of the now. These ears have heard them all; a woman’s place is in the kitchen (when men have feet to carry them there and two hands and a brain to cook), a woman is man’s property (as if men are born with additional months other than nine), a woman needs a man to be complete (as if completion is measured by their penises), a woman without a man is a prostitute (as if a woman prostitutes by herself), a woman with a mind and a mouth is bitter ( at this point I know only those who feel real bitterness are able to point out the bitter.)
Why will I fight so hard for three degrees, work so hard for a place in the society, build my personality well for respect only to play second fiddle to a man? Why? Do they have special powers to know my death date from my birth? “Abufuwsem akwaakwa”. 

Just look at Ama, fine lady she was in her twenties. A classmate, now with even grey hair at thirty one. After four children, her body is like that of an aged cow. She cleans, cooks, washes and pampers that cheating husband of hers who makes her feel less than an uncared for dog. Imagine me with my manicured fingernails and polished face, cleaning and cooking like a slave. Why? What are maidservants for? And why the hell will I pamper a cheating husband when HIV/AIDS is living in bodies with no seen tags? 

To me, a cheating husband must leave the house the very instant he is caught. A man must also take up his roles in the house. If I cook today, he must clean and do the dishes, if I bath the children, he must take them to school, if I wash our clothes, he must definitely dry them, if I take them off the drying lines, he surely must iron and fold them into the wardrobe. Why? Because we all earn income and are forming an equal home. Even the Bible says a woman should HELP the man not take over all the work in his house. What is submission without reciprocity? Did my mother gave birth to me to be enslaved by someone or stay in the shadow of some man? If the shadow is a good place to be, why the hell are they running their mouths in insults at even the thought that they could take the place of women in the kitchen? It is the uncouth men who shout the loudest! Empty barrels they say…! The annoying thing is that most are educated illiterates with no travelling experience. Yes, no travelling experience. They will surely argue and rain insults when they hear this but ask them where they have been to on earth, and you will hear “I travelled from Ho to Hohoe, Nkawkaw to Obo, Sagnerigu to Kumbungu, Tech Junction to Ejisu” and other laughable submissions. 

Nothing irks me like the travelled ones who act like domestic dogs abroad only to come back to their roots to act like kings of their home-made-jungles! Look at Lamisi’s husband who cooked and invited my boyfriend and I in Connecticut. When I visited them in their home in Accra, he sat in a sofa with legs crossed, throwing instructions around like a farmer ordering his hen. “Lamisi, did you only serve water? There is a champagne in the cellar. Hurry and serve them. Also prepare something delicious for them”. A second later, when the children were heard fighting over a ball, he opened his gutter to utter the most annoying insult I have ever heard “Lamisi, in the Name of Allah, control your children!” As if the children were not his, but when the conversation settled on the kids’ performance in school; “Oh they are really great! Whose children are they after all? Mine of course!”  I felt like blowing his mind up with a hammer of words but Rob, my boyfriend held and pleaded with me with his eyes as I painfully watched Lamisi sweep, wipe tables, do dishes while being sent on errands intermittently by the man who just sat gratifying himself with unnecessary talks about the cold snow and difficult life abroad. Ha! And I am sure he would jump on her like a pig at night without mercy! Such a filthy parody of man!

That evening, as I sat to think of all the unfair treatments meted out to women, I could not help but cry at the injustice our supposed illiterate ancestors committed against our poor mothers and decided to make them see reality. Kofi Nkwantannan’s proposal came in handy when my boyfriend asked me for a break. After sleeping over, I woke him up to lay the bed, sweep the room and prepare some breakfast for me. His eyes opened like an owl, his mouth like a made-belief dragon, the only missing point being the fires they are rumoured to spit. So, I pulled him from my bed naked, pushed him outside and threw his clothes on him all the while telling him “Who can marry a man who sleeps like a log in his woman’s house? Good luck finding a highly brought up lady like me!” I banged the door on him and warned him to clean up his drool on my doorsteps before leaving. 

And there was Habib. Guy just wanted me to meet his family, but I suggested he met mine first. Then he came to my house dressed in a jeans trousers and a T. Shirt. The arrogance of a growing monkey! I sacked the nigga from my house and made sure he never stepped foot in my house again with my well chronicled vocabulary which brought tears in his eyes. Imagine a lady dressed like that to meet potential in-laws in a lass domestication home!

Asona had the nerve to tell a close pal of mine that he slept with me. In his presence, I told that close pal and all those present about his thick and short penis which couldn’t even function properly. The nigga got really peeved and took out his penis for all to see. Tried as he did to make it wake for all to see, it slept like a dead log all through, shaming him the more. I felt good and in control then. Who codified a law that states only a woman can be shamed for her sexuality?

I wore my cool mini skirt and sleeveless top with high heels to church only for an elder to tell me to go home and change so as not to attract the men with the aura of my sinful accoutrements. I only gathered my friends, went to the church dressed to kill and sat how we liked in the front row as pastors stuttered, elders tried to swallow all the waterings of their mouths, choirmaster fought to hide his sheepish excitement only for the women’s leader to come with  pieces of cloths for us to cover ourselves up! I gave it to her from left to right, centre to back and front. In fact, I dressed her very well in a covering kaba and slit with a headgear, did her makeup to suit her and added the 70’s old shoes and ear rings to match. Don’t be too excited, they were all fashioned with my insult fabrics. 

Imagine a dunce of a woman telling me I am no wife material. I asked her how many yards she was and she was there yapping like an unschooled idiot! Should I be a patriarchal princess to be treated like a trash doll? Looked at only when pleasure bells call? God forbid! 

Amandzi is a real idiot! I just had a one night stand with him and he came back crying like a naive girl. What annoys me is that lady who took over someone’s husband and was jilted like a milk tin. She too had the mouth to say I am not a proper lady and that I am a shame to womanhood. An unmarked slave like that! Is it her concern if I decide to abort a pregnancy? In fact, whose concern is it? Is it not my own body? Why must anyone decide for me? I doubt she is getting some from any area boy. She surely is cranky because of all the Mary and Jesus’ cross that some riffraff gives gives her in a blue moon. I hear those princesses can hardly take control in their bedrooms. Such idiots! They “yes please” themselves even to be ridden like animals sedated to be killed in abattoir-like rooms.

I decided to jilt Koo Kumi after dating him for a month. Guy was cool and did everything I wanted but he was just too boring for my liking. I needed an excuse and told him that I am breaking up with him because he was not a virgin when we first slept together. Guy’s face mirrored a horror movie. Why do men find these things normal when it involves women but think they should not apply to them? Those who annoy me are the pastors and malllams who use their books to subdue women and make them feel less of themselves. I have created my own God and I pray to him to deal with them. The Bible and Quran was surely written by ego bloated men who needed chains to cage their women. Let anyone come to me with those scriptures and I will show them bullets and bombs can be found in some voices.

Atta, the village crook now tells people I serve the devil because I asked him to go down on me. It is amazing how horses of the past now try to make planes look alien in the present. He is one of those “gafara” men who “enter” their women like jerks, without foreplay. How do some women cope with some of these men?

I am now a topic among rumour mongers because I insisted my friend got a divorce from her husband of eight years after he slapped her. Why? Should I have left her there? The annoying thing is that that ungrateful Sherry is now blaming me for being single. Such a piece of shit! She would rather be married and unhappy than single and free. What is wrong with everybody and where at all is everyone, dear diary?

Abena Jemremedua © Feb. 2018 inspired by Kofi Gbedemah.

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​DAWN MUSINGS

If passion’s flicker did take liquor
And whispered these many trials

That hang on every life’s tree

To flower into fruition

To be plucked or pecked, fall or rot

Only to reach a cut, break or an uproot

Many swim fighters might have failed in competition

Intentionally


II

Yet a real excitement

Like curiosity, hanging it’s neck

In the window of my unformed heart

Might have still pushed me here

Into the belly of this earth

Where many paths lead to the same dark spot

But transient hearts battle in disharmony

Using their mortality as spears, guns, machetes and cancerous words

Only to stand possessed with fear

When their last bells call

What is man in this crooked spot of living?


III

Man is a mind of secrecy

Ailing or jubilating for the past

Scheming in the present

Without knowing the future

Man is like a programmed robot

Whose lifespan is known to its creator

But hidden from him

Yet he plans every minute as if he is in charge of him

Man is like a blind god’s house

To be used and discarded in a time and place

Yet man lives like God 

With thoughts of who to lead and impress

Even when living plays itself in a sleep world

Oh! Fading dusts battling hardened rocks!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 20, 2018

WHEN NEED CHASES

I live

With the body of a lioness

But walk

At the pace of a snail

The earth; a cruel boiling

The air; a slapping heat

On this road, are monstrous feet

And on the sky’s face, is an annoying grin

Even the dark seems dangerous

As legs with no intent join targeting ones in my hunt

When did you say is your time for me?


II

I hope your time is not in oblivion

Where moths lay claim on what needs recycling

I hope your time is not in full age

Where old age sprinkles wrinkles on my fallen skin

As joints pull down its locomotive powers with pain

I hope your fires under this very pot

Die not at the total evaporation of its working waters

Your intent have written endorsements

But you know how fast hearts you created move 

When need chases

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 18, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa)  Chapter 28 (18+)

“If you cut the head of a snake, all that is left is a rope.” I know that was the proverb playing on the minds of Tayo and his cronies. What he did not know was the fact that this snake’s venom was full in every part of its body. I arranged pillows to look like a human in a dimly lit room, hid in the closet in wait with a locally acquired gun given by Manki. Poncho was under the bed while Nacho hid in the bathroom. They had placed ten of their men around the hotel and ten on the way to my room.  The wait was boring and we even started to doubt the authenticity of the whistle blower. At fourteen minutes to two at dawn, we heard light footsteps with slight creaking of opening doors.

Three people entered my hotel room, then we heard gunshots in my hall. The team there were in a shoot out waking many in the hotel. Poncho fired from beneath, Nacho from the bathroom and I, from the closet. We each got them but Nacho’s missed and shot his shoulders. The assassin started shooting anyhow so I had to dock. Nacho, courageously jumped from beneath the bed, hit the wrist of his hand which was holding the gun and engaged in a man to man fight with him. The light was switched on only to see the assassin dressed in an all black tights, including a woollen facial mask. Poncho and Nacho handcuffed and unmasked him and saw a very unfamiliar face. They called out to those placed in the hall and realized we had lost one of our men but all the men in black tights were dead. They were eight in number. We quickly moved through our windows to another hotel which was booked the previous evening.

Manki came to visit early the next morning. He was shocked that we were alive making me think he was part of the conspiracy. We had kept the one alive in my new hotel room, gagged with Poncho as his torturer. He would still not open his mouth but we were not done with him. Tayo also interestingly called me. I received the call with all courtesy demanded of a business friend and gave no clue as to what we had gone through the night before. His voice was unmistakably shaking throughout the conversation but I feigned ignorance to perfection. After booking all the flights,  we went back to my room to help torture the intruder. I ordered a finger to be chopped off at every failure to answer my question. After losing two fingers, he spoke out, telling us about the man who contracted them. In fact, he was the boss who was contracted and was at his wits end because all his people had been killed. He pleaded to be killed too but I would have none of it. The man who paid for the contract happened to be Tayo’s friend. I called Manki after clearing my doubts and gave him my instructions about the assassin who said he was called Mpa. I proposed a recruit and followed through with it even though all my crew were against it. There was something about him I found loyal although he croaked under intense pressure. We fixed him up real well, his fingers and all, and let him go after he promised to follow us to Mexico. I had Tayo brought in for few slaps and wounds which promised to be deep scars and warned him to play with his equals next time. He left with his tail in between his thighs.

We took off five days after our clash with the assassins. Mpa and almost all the girls showed up but three, leaving us with four hundred and ten girls. I left the three for Manki to deal with but asked that he acted gently as some may have had genuine reasons for bailing out. As it turned out, one found out she was pregnant, another could not leave her ailing grandmother and the other died the night before in a street shoot out. It was a safe flight and the girls were comfortable in the dormitories Alejandro prepared for them. Our orientation was beautiful as the girls willingly dressed up for the theory and their first test jobs.

I was a bit beside myself with anxiety after I saw Consuelo. Thoughts of her difference, change of eye colour, body size and speech sounds made me feel like she was a different person but people around me felt she was one and the same person. Fearing they might think few of my screws were loose up there, I shut up and kept my many questions to myself. 

Alejandro visited a week after our orientation. The look in his eyes had changed. He looked at me with a softer touch. Funny, I did not mind at all. “Miss Davids, my surprise is your success. A book’s internal writing colour can be different from its exterior. Si.” After saying that, things became odd between us with neither of us speaking for a minute or two. 

“Miss, I came to check something around this place and decided to check on you. Be careful with everything and everyone and be sure to be alert at all times. Meanwhile, I will need  thirty girls to go and model shoes in Milan next week.” His fluency in the English Language always baffled me.

He fidgeted while talking, making me sense there was something fishy about the modelling bit. It would have been alright if he had said “to escort some high profiled people, but to model when they had not been trained to model bothered me. He might have realized so added “I will bring a trainer to help them get ready for the run way.” I knew something smart was being played on me but didn’t know what. Yet I took consolation in his words to be alert at all times. 

The week saw me seeing to it that selected girls were trained for modelling of shoes. The “ko ko ko” and “ka ka ka” were better than the sneakers which were almost like lullabies. The shoes that were presented were brand new and very catchy but the models who were chosen had long, beautiful and sexy legs, bodies and faces, talk less of smiles accentuated with perfect set of snow-like teeth. So in wearing the shoes, though catchy, the legs, bodies, in fact, their whole physiques caught more attention. They were given special clothes to wear with the excuse that they are models and should look as such, even their bags were sponsored, including hair accessories. I got the surprise of my life when my ticket was added. I was to be their supervisor. A part of me was glad of the Italy visit, a part was just restless, feeling there was something awfully wrong associated. 

We went through checks with no problems at the airport. The flight, including food on the plane was beautiful and cool. A beautiful blue black Limousine picked us up at the airport and sent us to our hotels. Although the girls were excited, they were nearly as tired as I was. I mean proper tiredness as they took on five to six men each night and six to seven during the day. On my part, I supervised all the CCTV cameras in their various dormitories to be sure I was privy to all that was happening to them, of course, without their knowledge. I also took charge in pairing men with them. I was grateful the payment plan of our customers had nothing to do with me but everything to do with Alejandro. Still, from petty thefts to sex based injuries, chaotic misunderstandings caused by language barriers to attitudinally sour men, there was never a dull day until the travel. I won’t even mention meetings upon meetings. Will you believe me when I say I completely forgot about sex? It was that intense so I slept like a log at our Hilton Hotel in Milan.

I woke to a scare, a very frightful scare. One of the girls was seizing and according to the other girls, had been seizing for over an hour. I made to call the reception for an ambulance but one of the girls restrained me. She took me to the bathroom and showed me something. A white powdery substance which she believed was the cause of Nthambi’s seizure. She believed they were in the shoes and the girl found them out and abused them. I asked her to get all the shoes of the girls for me without their knowledge. We searched through, even to a point of destroying some but nothing was found. I thought deeply about the whole trouble and decided on what to do next. Cunning were my thoughts, fierce were my emotions.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 16, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

THE VALENTINE’S DAY BROUHAHA


“You call this a gift? To think I thought you sensitive and thoughtful!” Afiba gathers her strapless mermaid-like red and white gown from the floor to get it away from her red stiletto heels in readiness to leave Ato’s room and probably his life. Ato holds on to her, locks his door, takes out the key and throws it under the bed.

“What do you think you are doing? Kidnapping me?” Afiba cries out in disgust.

“No, I just want to know exactly what is causing this confusion. It is Valentine’s Day for crying out loud Afi! A rose with these expensive well packaged chocolates I ordered from our own Cocoa Processing Company Limited and customised in your name should move you at least.”

Afiba pouts her lips, stands akimbo and looks again at the parcelled gifts on the well laid bed. She thinks of the conversation she had with Yaa, Araba, Ayoko and Alima. She was expecting a Kia Picanto from Ato in the least. She knows he can afford it and has been hinting at it for a long time even before this Valentine’s Day. She has been in a relationship with him for four years so was hoping for that and an engagement ring. Yet here she is, saddled with customised chocolates and a rose when she had bought him his dream Suzuki Motorbike and customised his name on it.

“Well, I don’t know what you mean by being moved, I guess I am different from other people, I am not in the least moved. If you would excuse me, please get the key from under that bed, open that door and let me leave.”

Afiba thinks through last year. How Ekow bought a brand new Toyota Camry for Araba and customised it in her name and how she bragged about it to all of them. She thinks of how Yaa paraded her engagement ring given to her by Owusu in front of them after being taken on a cruise in Europe. She thinks of how Alima had been surprised with a plush and well furnished restaurant in her name, land, structure and all by Alhaji Issah, her boyfriend now husband. She thinks of how Ayoko was asked to move in with Lantey with a paid trip to Paris and how all she had to show was a rose and a bottle of champagne. She feels she can’t continue this way.

“Remember all the great things your friends gave to their girlfriends last year? On Valentine’s Day?”

Ato is taken aback. “You mean Owusu, Lantey, Ekow and Alhaji Issah?”

Afiba nods as tears freely flow from her beautiful well lined eyelids. “What did they give them? I remember Alhaji Issah gifting Alima a restaurant, that was because she had worked so hard in graduating her catering school and deserved it, also, he was getting married to her in three months. Besides that, I don’t remember any special thing the others did for your friends Afi.

“Well, you might not know but Ekow gave Araba a Toyota Camry and customised her name on it, Yaa was proposed to and sent to Europe on a paid trip, Lantey also took Ayoko to Paris…”

Ato laughs loudly, sits on the bed, gets up, looks at Afiba and chuckles. “Afi, stop this child’s play. You know none of those things happened. Ayoko forced herself to move in with Lantey and now their relationship is on the brink of a break up. Those others, they did not get as much as a flower to think of a box of chocolate. I was privy to the quarrels between all of them. Trust me, those ladies went over the bar gifting paid trips and whatnots. But the biys nevee reciprocated.”

Afi’s knees shiver as though it would break even in its beautiful heels. She feels what she is hearing is not something she even dreamt possible, let alone true. If what Ato is saying is true, then she has seriously been misled. But it seems she is being lied to by Ato, but lies aren’t part of his traits. He has always proven true to his feelings and information he divulges. She is confused and bites her red lipsticked lips. Afiba forces herself to sit on the bed and thinks deeply about the whole brouhaha. Ato has always been gentle with her. He is kind, gives her all she desires, not in excess but she does not lack in anything she needs. He is unlike any man she has dated. “I need to find a way to salvage the situation before I make a mess of my relationship. Afiba thinks to herself.

“I don’t know what to say Ato.”

“Don’t say anything Afi. I know you. You have never been a greedy lady. You have been true to your feelings and always lived real. I can understand your needs, trust me, because I love you. Always look to me, trust me to do you right and let’s cherish our relationship. I will never betray you, you know that.”

Afiba starts crying loudly without shame. Ato takes her into his arms, cuddles her until she calms down. 

“I am sorry Ato. I really didn’t mean to be ungrateful. Sometimes my friends get to me with their taunts but I promise to be careful from today onwards”

Ato struggles for the key, opens the door and goes out. After few minutes, he comes in, takes off her heels, replaces them on her feet with  flip flops and leads her gently to the dining table. Afiba is shocked to the bone. The table is laid like one in a five star hotel with assorted meals, lasagne in assorted meat sauce, grilled chicken, her favourite and spiced salad with sparkled water, natural pineapple juice on the rock and rice cooked to perfection. Standing in a small bucket of ice is her favourite champagne. She saw no one around when she walked in. Now she looks around and finds no one.

“Did you do all these yourself?”

Ato nods. “I have been learning for months. I just wanted to surprise you so you will look on me favourably the years ahead.”

Afiba, now ashamed to a fault, digs into the meal served on her plate. The meal is more palatable than any she has tasted in life and the attention given her by Ato, wiping of her mouth, filling her glasses,  and playing her favourite tunes makes it more than a fantasy. She does not believe she nearly passed this for a tearful night in loneliness in her quiet apartment. 

Ato’s phone rings after the meal while they are watching the new Romantic Comedy from Sparrows Production directed by Shirley Frimpong Manso. He puts it on loud speaker after seeing the look on Afiba’s face. It is a conference call with the boys.  Lantey is the first to speak. “I’ve finally succeeded in sacking Araba from my house. Aaaba! This is the best Valentine’s gift ever. The girl wanted to stick on me like glue.” Alhaji speaks in disgust. “Lantey, you don’t have to be this insensitive. That girl has given you more than four years of her life. We are humans and must be empathetic. Imagine her as your little sister.” Ekow disagreed with Alhaji “Empathy has nothing to do with love, Alhaji. The girl should have sensed from the start that he wasn’t into her. In this relationship of five, we all know only two were going to work even before it started. Ato’s and yours. We all made our investigations and realized the others were in relationships with sugar daddies and are still in those relationships even as we speak. They play us, we tag along”.

There is silence. Alhaji speaks out. “Well, knowing that, you should’ve let them go long ago. This mockery of a relationship, leading them on is uncalled for.”

Owusu comes in,  “ I will marry Yaa, immediately I see her being serious about her job. I hope she stops flirting with her boss. I have never played her, she plays me but I know she is making an attempt. For close to two years now, she has been faithful so I am still watching her keenly. As for the rest, Alhaji, leave their matter. You can decide to put them in your four to one slot. You know ours is just a one on one?” Afiba covers her mouth with her palms to stop herself from crying out. Ato speaks for the first time. “But you bought her a promissory ring last year?” Owusu quickly answers “What do you mean? Will I buy her a ring without informing you? Where did you get that from Ato?” 

Afiba gets up and runs to the bedroom to cry out. She has been stupid, very stupid. Ato joins her and all she does is apologize, hugs her gifts and weeps. 

Work is stressful at the hospital when day breaks. There are many sick patients and three die while being attended to. She reaches home stressed after working as the best nurse she is and meets all her friends relaxing in her hall. She asks them how they spent their Valentine’s Day. 

Araba in an over exaggerated excited tone speaks: “I have been given an all expense paid trip to Dubai. I leave tomorrow “ She actually has the ticket to show for it. Afiba blinks her disgust but takes control of her emotions in order not to let it show. 

“I moved out of Lantey’s house. I think it has ended for us but he bought me a brand new car” Ayoko said blandly. Afiba nearly shouts at her but restrains herself. 

“I was given a box of chocolate. I can’t continue lying. I was not given any ring last year. In fact, nothing was given to me at all. I am jealous of all of you. I am sorry I lied but I too wanted to be seen as being loved but I guess all is for nothing. I have nothing to show for it.”

Afiba pulls Yaa up in a tight embrace and tells her she is a real person and that she has a man who will definitely marry her if she pulls herself together. The other two look on as if they have been slapped but ask her what she was given.

She hands them her parcel bag and they start digging into her chocolates. Araba is the first to exclaim. “Afiba! There is a ring in this chocolate.” She pulls it out of her mouth and it is a very beautiful silver ring with a beautiful pearls fixed on the top most parts. Afiba immediately puts it on her middle finger. It fits perfectly. 

“This is beautiful! They all exclaim in turns. Afiba calls Ato and continuously repeats “I will! I definitely will! I love you!”

Alima starts eating the rest and exclaims “Ah! There is a big thing in this chocolate. Can’t even fit into my mouth.” She pulls it out and it is a key to a car. They all breathe in jealousy. Afiba collapses for a minute and  wakes only to cry. She looks into the pack and sees a note, rushes to her garage only to see her Kia Picanto. She laughs through her tears, ashamed but happy and thankful to God for Ato. She definitely has learnt her lesson and by Jove will listen to her friends with a pinch of salt from hereon.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 14, 2018

Edited by Alhassan Nantomah

Photo Credit: Google Pics

ON THIS DAY OF LOVE


Varied colours of bees, birds and flowers

Will dance under Cupid’s showers

With soaps of gifts in parcels of hearts

Many in heels on tiles of public stages

In fantasies of crumbling perfect sheets

In the arms of secrecy

Others in sneakers of dignity 

On woolen carpeted back staged floors

Hoping their hearts’ arrows 

Will meticulously pierce and stick into hearts in foreverness

Yet some will wait in anticipation for naught

From hearts of insensitive dust cans

Who know how to eat in bowls of love

 Not how to prepare its meals nor do its dishes

What of those to be robbed in cages of manipulations

By Cupid’s unfortunate curses?

Oh there are those whose tarred tongues of lies

Will spark vehicles of deceit into chaotic accidents

Seeing to death of their couplings

Yet still some will hide in blankets of loneliness

Hoping with tears of need

For a future of fantasy

Where Cupid’s touch will bless

It is a farm of perfected imperfections

Cultivated from a garden of loving hate

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 14, 2018

Photo Credit: Google pics

PRETEND ON

Flow with the snow and alienate your rain

Giggle in shivers of winter and act coy with thy harmattan

Mate summer and pretend its sun is all you’ve seen

You melaninos pretending to be dark albinos

In strange strange spheres
II

You are they who hold erasers of the past

Cleaning  footsteps as they go

You are they who join moves of foreign rhythms

Pretending Adowa, Agbadza, Kpanlogo and the lively others

Are sickly tunes from lands of alien apes

Soldier on, you eagles acting in butterfly tights

Model on, you frozen blocks wearing clothes of snows

Run on, you who abhor pictures of your past

Just know frogs stretch in their death

Showing their real heights

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 11, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 27 (18+)

A foreseen target calls for  prior preparation. When Alejandro’s hands left my face, I immediately grabbed them both, turned them behind him, forcing him to turn, kicked the back of his kneecaps, forcing him to kneel, and asked him what he was thinking. Funny, he did nothing to challenge me. Issidro pulled a gun at me but I am sure he knew I didn’t care about that. It was obvious he was trying to distant himself from my actions towards his boss. Alejandro who directly faced him, spoke with him for about a minute in a very calm tone. He obviously had a hold of his emotions. Issidro lowered his gun afterwards.
“Miss, let go of me.”

“Not until you say please.”

“Please.”

I let go of him but pushed him forward into a fall. One who has tasted the venom of a cobra,  has no fear for worms. My eyes squarely met his as he got up. He said something in Spanish and Issidro reluctantly got out, closing the door behind him.

“Miss Davids, this is the last time you will behave like this towards me in front of anyone or else…”

“Or else what? You will kill me? As if I fear the kind of death threat you pose.”

“No, I won’t kill you. I will kill three of your people anytime you disrespect me.

It was my turn to laugh but the laughter died in my throat when I heard his next words. 

“We have a deal. You will scout your people and pay them from your earnings, which would be more than you need. But three will die anytime you try this with me again. Understood?”

Fear crept through my pores from my soul. I can stand anything but someone suffering in my stead, how could I live with someone dying because of me? Alejandro had found me out and targeted the spots which really can hurt, no, kill me from within. My quietude and instant change from defiance to fear made him smile. He kissed my right cheek, straightened his grey trousers and white shirt and left. I sat on the bed, thought through what had happened and knew I had been caught. I sure needed to behave and find a way out.

Three tickets were handed over to me the next day. I was supposed to go to Gabon to scout with a team of about twenty soldiers to protect me. I was not stupid, I knew they were to make sure I did not run away. I told them not to make me see them as it would be annoying to. Libreville was a fair city but my interest was not in the place, it was in the people and how to get the right workers to start my journey in an escort agency I knew nothing about. Luckily, Poncho and Nacho were with me. Nacho spoke impeccable French making him a great asset and protector. I told him I needed to rest and plan, so we went to Hotel Boulevard where our rooms were already booked. We slept for six hours, woke up to supper in our respective rooms and prepared for the night. I surfed the net to find good nightclubs and found Le Hype, No Stress, VIP Room, Le Marrakech, L’absolute Discothèque, Bomb Afro and Yoka Sports Bar. We had only two months to scout and return to base and I did not intend to overstay my welcome. 

Upon discussion, we agreed with the help of our source there, Manki, that we would start with the first three. Manki told me he had some girls for me but I realized he had deceived them into believing they were going to America to have their dream jobs. Of course, I declined. With Nacho as my ears, I pretended to drink with them when what I had in my Gin bottle was water, firmly held by Nacho. The bottle in my hand held liquor alright. That I served them. Through that, I got to know of the best pimp to see at Le Hype. He was reluctant at first in introducing me to his girls, but caved in when I showed him the five thousand dollars he’d earn if he did. In three hours, all the girls were lined up. I only went to that meeting with Nacho. 

“We are an escort agency based in Mexico. The biggest there is. If you want to join us, we will be glad and pay for your trip there. We will pay you well for your services and you will be free to leave, that is, after you finish paying for your expenses for the journey. It is a fair deal and I have my contract here. So those who want to join should write their names so we can start the procedure. “

Nacho translated this word for word. I asked that they informed their other friends in the business and left for the hotel. It was a stressful night although we only visited Le Hype. 

I woke to a call from Alejandro at 3am. He warned me not to mess things up and made it clear freedom comes with responsibilities one needs to honour or face their consequences. I assured him I understood but he did something that made me feel he feared I would fail. “Manki knows the place well, he is our best scout in Gabon. Please let him help you.” I told him I’d consider, that ended the conversation. I begun to doubt myself. “Would my plan work? Can I get two hundred girls to voluntarily opt to work under my escort? My nerves drove me into a long hot shower. After the bath, I went back to the room only to find many missed calls at 4:56 am. I called back and it was Taro, the Pimp of Le Hype. He told me he had gotten five hundred and sixteen girls for me. They ranged between seventeen to twenty three. I was besides myself with happiness. I told him I would pay him after my selection and he was more than glad. I called Manki and asked him to book a place for an audition, a secluded place. The girls were to come with sandals, a pair of high heels, a swim suit, a formal wear and a lingerie. Those who couldn’t afford were to call Manki and register for shopping which would go into their account before the audition day. 

Manki was besides himself with respect for me. He shopped for almost four hundred girls after making them sign that if they failed, they would refund. Of course, I made sure he chose the best to qualify for the shopping. I was bent on finishing the auditions in at most two days, so set up Poncho to see to the formal dresses, Nacho, the swim suit while Manki and I saw to the lingerie, heels and mock sex.

What was difficult was the mock sex where some men were hired to fuck or be fucked to ascertain the best. At about the thirtieth fuck, I suggested we went without that bit of the audition. It was annoying listening to the sounds some of the girls made when they were fingered, arousing to see them enjoy their quickies in exaggerated forms and time consuming to clean around for other rounds to take place as I insisted on good hygiene. This time, Manki was supportive, so we paid the gigolos and dismissed them. We completed within two days and ended up selecting all four hundred and thirteen girls who auditioned. It turned out the sickly, too fat and old ones were eliminated by Manki’s team even before we took our seats. The problem was, I was given a two hundred girl mark so I called Alejandro who just told me to do what was best. Wiring money to me, to him, would attract attention, so he told me he’d send someone to bring me what I needed so the person would pick up later. I realized the business was bigger than I anticipated. 

Working on passports was easy. Manki knew many people and paid our way through. Within three weeks, we were done with our paperwork, ready to fly. Just when we were about to book the flights, someone gave us a tip that Tayo was trying to sabotage us. He had hired assassins to wipe us clean after robbing us. Manki suggested we changed hotels but I would have none of it. I asked them to prepare in wait for them that night and went to my room to plan for my safety with Poncho and Nacho.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​EBONY DRAINS BUT STILL REIGNS

This morning tastes sour
Making the sun frown at its bitter luck

In throats are melodies which water sores of heartbreaks

A blooming voice has muted 

Pressed by deaths wicked fingers

How I wish death’s father lived in the physical

For her soul to date in his hate
II

The sensuous figure that worked so well

Driving many into an obsessive hell, fell

At the dawn of her rise

And tears are seas in loving hearts

Regrets are pools in hateful hearts

All the poison whose venom never got its fill

The sponsor whose money gave dilemma for a moral so misconstrued

Look Mother Nature! What death, your son, has done!

One who reigns has been sucked in his drains
III

I know the unheard melodies ringing through strange lands

Begging for a way back to life’s shores

I know the “hotness” that finds itself in a mythical realm

I know the grievances of an unfilled pot

Broken after a graceful bake

But you were a melody in your short visit

A sweet sweet melody with a perfect pen of words to boost

Writing your name in the history of the greatest our time will know

Sleep well little one

If the world gives other chances yonder

By all means come and complete your mission

Until then, damarifa due!

Due due ne amanehunu!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 9, 2018 For Ebony Reigns.

Photo Credit: Google Pics

POSITIVE VIBES

A flower of smiles

In a hand so warm

A massaging sun waving from miles

In a sky of no harm

Greets your morning from the land of my mind

II

The land of my mind

In which I farm happiness in weeds of strife

Throwing stumps and thorns into dungeons of past’s behind

Carving a great team to play the team of life

So create a smile without a sigh


IV

A smile with no sigh

Even if clouds blanket the waving sun

Knowing transiency is its bothersome hi

And impotency carves its tempt like fun

In a garden of your sweet scented presence

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 8, 2018

​THAT CHAOTIC FUTURE

I can see a time standing far up on a future top
With a sea-like feet sweeping this shop

Acting like a white elephant cop

Watching as beings intensely flop 

And animals, their tamed rights hop


II

There, I saw a wolf publicly loving a being

All fangs and claws in daylight are seen

All giggles of rights hailed fairly by the green

As ancestors time look in nauseating mean


III

Even dogs walked on twos

Giggling with beings in “me and yous”

And those who stumbled into public loos

Ended up seeing all furs on and in skin


IV 

What of horses who sat to date

Their past bosses in a lucky fate?

In their bitter and litter state

Their curses loudly fly in debates


V

I watch as fishes fight for their rights

To swim in air and get their share

Of the pleasures which humans share

To the creatures whose meat now act skins

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 7, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 26 (18+)

Connection of hearts is spiritual, binding and most of all intuitive. I looked at the woman staring down at me and couldn’t help thinking of Ntwanu. I rushed to hug her. She first hugged me, then pushed me off her. That was when I gained my awakening. I looked up to see Issidro standing there watching us. I didn’t say as much as a word but I was embarrassed.

“So miss likes women, no?”

I decided it was best not to reply to that message and went to sit on the bed. Consuelo, the house maid, left after bowing. Issidro came to sit beside me on the bed. 

“Miss Bee, I like you. I like you very very much. When I see you my corazon goes crazy. My woman, be my woman”

I couldn’t help but ask “Are you here to hit on me or strike a deal?”

He looked down and didn’t say anything. It was obvious his ego was bruised but I cared less. “Please leave. I need to rest. I have body pains, let’s talk later and come to an agreement.”

He could not believe his ears and opened his eyes as though he had seen a torturous ghost. I realized he had probably never been treated like that before. I held his hand, pulled him into a standing position, walked him slowly to the bedroom door and pushed him out. After, I locked the door in and threw myself on the bed. I thought of what to do. I didn’t know Mexico very well, I couldn’t make it through the airport because this escort organization seemed like a very powerful one. Chances are, they even had agents on road. I had to be smart and gain their confidence. How to do that? By joining in. My heart broke into millions of pieces after thinking about the people I was going to help ruin. But it is a world where survival of self takes precedence over that of strange others in strange circumstances. So I cried myself to sleep until Consuelo woke me up. 

“Madam, time to eat supper” 

I had not eaten for a long time so saw the dining table and was glad. Rice and stew with so many side dishes. I sat and started biting in and ate until I could eat no more. I started feeling bad, ticklish and needy. I realized I had been given an aphrodisiac. I yearned so much for sex that I didn’t know what to do. I asked Consuelo what she had done and she assured me she had done nothing. Strangely, I believed her. I decided to go get a shower, on reaching the bedroom, Issidro was lying naked on the bed, smiling slyly. I told myself, even if he was the last man on earth, I was not going to sleep with him ever. I picked some decent clothes, left him there, called two of my guards and asked them to take me to a good hotel. They obliged and got a good room for me. I asked them to come in for a drink and shut the door. I apologized for what I was about to do but stripped them naked. They were both dumbfounded but I could sense the need in their eyes. 

I ordered them to fuck me as much as they could. Poncho kissed me wildly as Nacho took off my clothes, he too was kissing me from behind. What I needed was not the kissing part, I needed something deep inside me, something strong, something hard so looked among the two and realized they were both as hard as stones. While he stood, I climbed him, holding his neck as I pushed him into me, it was such a pleasurable thrust. I asked that he pounded me hard. He tried but it was not enough. I was like a crazy and needy bitch. I exchanged Poncho for Nacho but it still couldn’t do. It went on for well over two hours. I didn’t know what to do to stop the feeling. Poncho went out and came after fifteen minutes with some form of medicine. He begged me to take it. After taking it, I still fucked them for over fifteen minutes before I calmed. My gentle security men took me to the bathroom and bathed me. Something about a man bathing me reminded me of Guru and Ntwanu. They were so sweet. After that, they tucked me in bed, watched me sleep for well over four hours and woke me up. 

Poncho decided to speak but Nacho restrained him. Still he spoke out. “Madam, be careful with Issidro. He put medicine in your food. He wants you so try and satisfy him or he can kill you.”

I told them to protect me as much as they could as I was not in anyway interested in sleeping with Issidro. Nacho then asked that I demand to see Isidro’s boss from him, that was the only thing that could save me, the protection from above. When we reached home, Issidro was waiting, obviously annoyed but couldn’t voice it out. Instead of listening to him, I spoke out. “I need to see your boss in order to come to an agreement with my hiring. Call him.” He objected and pulled a gun at me. I wasn’t in the least shocked. I just went to stand straight in front of the gun, pulled it to my forehead and asked him to fire. He started shivering, so I held the trigger with him and fired. He struggled and the bullet went from my face to the door, destroying some electronic devices in the hall. He started calling me crazy and continuously shouted that he had not seen such a horrible bitch in his life. I thanked him for it and asked him to call his boss. He did. 

Alejandro was slim, tall, handsome, around forty years old and with some cool set of teeth I had ever seen. His dimples were so beautiful he didn’t look like a pimp boss. He asked me to go straight to the point as he did not have the time to waste and I did.

“I will need to scout my whores, train them and work with them. Also, I will need to pay them what is due them so they don’t feel used. If you agree to those terms, then I will work for you. If not, then forget it.”

“You know if I forget it, you won’t leave this house alive right?”

I laughed like I had heard the best comedy ever, and went to stand right in front of him. Issidro spoke to him extensively in Spanish as my eyes held his. I asked him to shoot or do his worst to me as I was not going to compromise on even one of those conditions. He stood up, held my face and gave me a French kiss. Issidro’s face told me something unpleasant was about to happen, so I braced myself for it but did lean in for that kiss which obviously made Issidro uncomfortable and angry.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 5, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​THE LAW’S UNFAIR AXE

“Case number 566/7 The state vrs Akosua Twumasi.” The clerk called out.

Many people started hurling abuses at her until the clerk shouted “Order in Court!” as the gavel of the judge pounded loudly on his desk. I just looked at the weak and feeble woman in handcuffs who was being pushed into the witness stand to be interrogated. She swore by the Bible to tell the truth and nothing but the truth but was sneered at by most people who were there, like me, to witness proceedings. The court was filled to the brim. Her case was read out by the prosecuting counsel. According to him, Madam Akosua Twumasi poisoned her daughter and cruelly killed her. After, she walked straight to the police station to report herself. When the police got to the scene, the poor girl was lying in bed, in the pool of her vomitted blood, dead. She was an autistic girl with multiple seizures according to the attending doctor. He ended that, how a girl who knew nothing was cruelly murdered by her own mother is beyond thinking and asked the court to seek justice for the poor departed soul.

Madam Twumasi was asked about her counsel, she asked that she be allowed to speak for herself. In tears, she spoke.

“I did kill my daughter and I believe no one here has the right to judge me. I believe no one has the right to insult or sneer at me. I believe no one has the right to arrest me. That is my thought.” The judge asked her to explain before she was slapped with contempt of the court.

“Your Honour, this would be long but pardon me. I was born an orphan, with no one to help me through life. The state provided me with nothing because even the education that many thought was free, was expensive to me. I couldn’t feed myself so dropped out. I won’t bore you with that story of my life. I fell in love with my husband of three years when he was in secondary school. With my fried plantain, I took care of part of his expenses till he completed his schooling, became a teacher and married me. When we had our child, she was the most beautiful girl Nsakaw had seen and word went round that I had given birth to a mermaid or an angel. She grew up to six months and fell ill. She convulsed without stopping. We took her to many hospitals and tried everything but the sickness worsened and she became a completely dependent girl as she grew. She could neither talk nor walk. At two years old, we all realized there was no hope of a recovery but I trusted God to change that fate. 

I heard from a friend that my husband was getting married to another lady when my daughter was barely two and a half years old. Lo and behold, it was true. Whereas I was traditionally married to him, he legally wedded another woman. With my child strapped at my back, I looked on as they recited their vows but could not say anything. That was a man who slept in my bed the previous night. He never returned to our home, and never bothered to send me a pesewa. With my daughter strapped on my back, I sold iced water at the market but no one bothered to buy from me. I heard a rumour that I was a witch and my witchcraft caused the sickness of my daughter. Another rumour had it that I insulted an elderly woman when I was pregnant and so my daughter’s illness is as a result of that. My Lord, I never did any such things. Many people here in Nsakaw shunned my company so I relied on a piece of land my mother left me, to farm and feed. You should have seen the girl on my back as I cleared portions to plant. Sometimes, when the going got tough, I sat by the mosque in town to beg for alms. 

During all that time, the law was not seen. When my daughter was seizing and biting her tongue, when blood oozed from her bite, when her drooling bathed me to the disgust of all, the law was no where to be found. I carried on for seven years. Seven whole years hoping for a miracle, going hungry to see her fed, travelling miles to have her tended to by scamming herbalists and spiritualists, having to pay pastors who promised the fastest healing ever, none of that worked. And what was worse? The hospitals provided for by government collected such huge amounts for medications prescribed for the girl that I ended up not going there anymore. How could I have afforded that? How do you think a mother feels seeing her child suffer shame? How do you think a mother feels seeing her child suffer deprivation? How do you think a mother feels seeing herself and her child at the pointed ends of fingers whose sole aim is to make them objects of ridicule? How does it feel to feel so alone in a world whose hands are never there to help when need be but its mouth is ready to butcher at the slightest mistake? 

I am sorry to say that you have no right to harm a hair on my pride. Why must I be arrested? Because I reported myself for the crime? What about the millions of people you all know who kill their disabled children without reporting? It’s a hush hush affair but you know and I know that it happens. Even those with cleft palates are killed mercilessly. You hear and I hear but you protect them with “no evidence”. How many people in this court room did not tell me that my child is an evil spirit? Snake? Punishment from the gods? How many of you didn’t suggest that I take her to be turned into a python and join our ancestors because she could devour me at night? How many of you gave me one word of encouragement? How many of you bought me pure water when I was thirsty and carried her on my back under the scorching sun? How many of you even looked with sympathy? Yet you sit here sneering like perfect gods and goddesses.

I am a victim of circumstance! That victim whose conscience is clear because I killed my daughter not because of all the suggestions you gave but because I wanted to gift her peace. Peace to live free of illnesses, peace to sleep and rest, free of seizures, free from your scornful eyes, free from societal rumours that spread fast without a wiring. Free from poverty, from pain from a father who never for once turned back to look at her but sits in this court looking at me like some form of evil executioner. I gifted her that freedom. I know you will ask why I didn’t report her father. Will I have had peace in this community where only witches take their men to court? This community which only sees the little dust on a female while overlooking the stinking shit on males? Will I have survived in this ostriched community where the man is always right? 

Your Honour, do let the law whip me if you must, but think it through if the law has that right to bother me when it has not gained the fear of the people to live rightly. No, do not jail me my Lord, sentence me to death rather. That is the only thing that can give your mind rest and clear your conscience. And why not? Because you did protect me from malice, shame and fed me, yet still I took the life of an angel. I sacked my lawyer. Well, how can the state who battles me give me a lawyer? How can that lawyer ask me to plead guilty even before hearing my full statement? I need no one to defend me. You can sentence me now Your Honour! But I dare say I am not repentant. Given the chance, I will do it over and over again. Jail is a much better place than seeing the suffering of one you would sacrifice your life for. I would have killed myself afterwards but needed to be heard for those who are yet to experience this pain. I have nothing more to say your Honour. Thank you.”

The whole court was silent. No one moved for what seemed like eternity. Those who were busy insulting and casting aspersions and insinuations at her could no longer look at her. Two women seated by me suddenly started fighting. They accused each other of starting rumours and shunning her company. The judge’s head was bowed. He could no longer look at her and could not talk. I knew he would have the worst time sentencing her, but sentence he must. The clerk just blinked tears. The whole jury shed tears. The judge signalled the clerk and in a minute, he tearfully announced, “This case is adjourned to next month, October 9, 2018.” The prosecutor never for once, raised his head after that. How people vanished from the court was a mystery. I just sat there, my sweat drowning my clothes as she was led by the police to their van. He who created a woman to be strong, too strong in love, surely cursed us. We deserved everything but that burdensome gift.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 3, 2018.

Photo Credit: Pinterest on Google Pics.

TRAITS OF A LEADER

A knot needs fingers to be

Just as groups need a head for sanity

As the earth looks upon the sky

And the sky cries and shines upon the earth in fertility

So must the relations between a leader and the led

The leader built by positive sides of great animals


II

A leader must be a lion in serving

Fierce for roles none wants to take on

With paws for tackling its challenges

Be it shame or difficulties

A leader must be a peacock

Proud of piecing diverse heads into one

And stitching different hearts into rhythmic heartbeats

A leader must be a hen

Domesticated 

Always home or around the home of the office

Bringing all broken wings, tired legs, hurt chicks

Under its wings

Always watching out for the hawk of division

And working to have a pecking fight even if its strength is in the low

A leader must be a cat

Always ready to listen

Mostly holding its tongue

Mostly blinking away gossips

Which wild dogs peddle

Only using the guarding trait of dogs for the good of all

A leader must be an ant

Wise in troubled waters

Looking for leaves when his army is faced with a drowning

Always honourable even in a chastisement

A leader must be a goat

Stubborn with risks

Accepting defeats with grace

And cheering wins with motivation

A leader must be a sheep

Obedient and approachable

To all no matter the emotions of approachers

A leader must be a dove

Looked upon like a star by her led

Pure in their hardworking sights

Setting examples where equations seem difficult

A leader must be as presentable as an antelope

Even in a forest of thorns

Observant like a brown snake under a brown lawn

A leader must be a horse

Never tired to trot

Even when sharp rocks stare meanly with knives to battle

A leader must a nightingale

Whose voice mellows the fury of even a dragon spewing hell fire

A leader must be a vulture

Always picking up the dead pieces no matter how they stink

A leader must be an eagle

Whose wings never tire from flight

And strength is enough to always light teams

With eyes like that of a potent seer

Seeing the future before it happens

A leader must be the biggest tree in the desert

Always ready to house all in branches and under its skirt

A leader must be fierce like a David

Even when a Goliath chases

A leader is the donkey whose back never breaks

And the horse whose chariot is his to pull

Even through thunders and storms

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 30, 2017

​CHILD OF MINE


Baby mine

Do not, for the attention of these storms pay a dime

Life in suns and rains rhyme

So let’s let these storms, their time chime

You beautiful sun of mine


II

You were picked from the world of passion

With wishes of building for you a happy nation

Breaking backs to give you a perfect station

But life’s travel shows no future action

Hence my sorry reaction


III

I wish your ails had a walking bell

I would have sheltered you like a shell

And taken its guns regardless of its pain’s spell

Even if it meant arrest of my soul in death’s cell

But its talkless sneakers teamed with my unaware gel

So you innocent soul in running fell


IV

Even as these storms roar

As our needs soar

In many an eye’s tour

And many a mansion holds no door

For our weary feet to talk less of a floor

Our sethood changes not even if Satans in conventions abhor

So fight even in this poor


V

I will always you cheer

Even if tears blind in my fear

I will always your guns share

Even if ammunitions of injections and medications cost in queer

I will always stay here

Where your fists blow death’s steer

Hoping and praying for a win, my dear

But if this breaks your gear

Know you will forever be engraved here

In this heart and always be near

For this journey is of us

You and I 

And our God whose existence shakes my mythical confusions

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 2, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 25 (18+)

A pot that is determined to break can do so at the slightest heat. Dansoa sprawled on the hardened tiled floor with head raised looking at me. Pedro ordered “abrirla!” Although I didn’t understand what it meant, I knew it was an order for something bad. The three cruel men started tearing her clothes apart in front of all of us as she tried to wriggle her way out. I shivered as tears welled up in my eyes when they met hers. She was shouting and begging to no avail. There was nothing like foreplay for her. The first man, probably in his late thirties just thrusted into her like an axe cutting into wood. Blood just oozed out. The fear on the faces of the other seven girls told me they would not even try to lift a finger. I closed my eyes and just let the tears flow. I tried to shut out her screams to no avail so opened my eyes to see one’s cock heading towards her mouth. It was shoved into it like a hole. I was about to tell her in the local parlance to be calm but before it came out of my mouth, she had bitten the penis of the second man. She nearly bit it off. As he cried like a beaten brute, the others stopped fucking her and started beating her. Pedro joined in.

Suddenly, Dansoa could not shout again. Blows to her face, breasts, slaps, head banging against the tiles, fists shoving into her like her little lady was nothing but a sack. Pedro’s eyes caught mine, then he raised his gun, shot the man whose penis was hanging. His gaze still held mine. The others were more furious after the shot, and the brutal sex turned worse until she laid there like a corpse. I thought she had died. I screamed like the world was about to end and charged into Pedro like a mad cow. He fell under my fists and I started hitting him. I guess even the two men left were at a loss for words and action so looked on as I bashed the monster. Pedro tried to get me off with blows but I dodged them all and continued hitting him until blood gushed from his brows. I don’t know how long my savagery lasted, but just when I was about to tear off his penis, after hitting it with my fist for over a minute, I heard a gunshot. Felt something heavy on me, and realized Dansoa had taken a bullet meant for me. In my arms, I could not look at the faint smile that lined up her mouth before she gave up her ghost. I put her down and charged on the one who shot at her. He tried to shoot back but I guess the bullets were finished. I went straight at him as though targeting his face. He used his arms to cover his face as I hit his scrotum hard.

He fell over and started exchanging blows with me. I felt no pain, I just went crazy. The other girls joined in the fight when they realized we could take them on. One girl picked a wooden bat and hit the head of the other man, another picked a huge painting and hit Pedro’s head with it. We went crazy and nearly killed the three but for the intervention of about ten men. They were well built and armed. By the time they got there, I had almost squashed the scrotum of the one who shot and killed Dansoa. They handcuffed all of us after a warning shot and gave us some injections. I tried to stay awake but just blacked out when we were being dragged through a door we never knew existed in the house. 

The pain was severe. More like a back pain, a headache, pain in my loins, legs… I was tied to a pole in the middle of what seemed like an abandoned warehouse. My whole body was in pain. I tried to recollect what had happened only to have a blank. I looked around but there was no one around. I thought of what to do but there was practically nothing. My legs and hands were all tied as I stood by the pole, a little wriggle sent such sharp pains through me, I could barely breathe. So I stood there thinking. I thought of what to do in order to break free or maintain my dignity even if I would be killed. The best option was to be quiet and wait instead of shouting like a coward. So I stood still with my head bowed. I felt a light approaching but didn’t move until a hand held my chin to lift my head. The man was startled when I looked straight at him without fear. He stepped back and started speaking Spanish to me. I didn’t as much as try to open my mouth. I just wanted to remember what was happening. I knew I was a month from my seventeenth birthday, remembered my Ghanaian life but not what brought me here. Suddenly, Pedro was wheeled in and everything came back to me. The trick, Dansoa’s death, the rebellion and I felt like strangling him. 

Pedro was in a bad shape. He was in a wheel chair looking all dishevelled, one eye shut, the other badly bruised. He was in a neck collar and his feet continually shook. He had a look of fear as he looked at me and I am sure my murderous intent towards him was communicated well. There was a pleasant looking man by his side who looked amused at the relationship between Pedro and I.

“Miss, my name is Issidro. Sorry for all the problems.” He ordered that I be untied and given some water. I took the water and looked at him in wait. “I am Pedro’s boss. Sorry things went so badly. It was pure miscommunication.” I guess he was expecting something from me but I gave him no pleasure. I kept an unreadable countenance and just watched him, making him nervous. 

“I have a proposition for you. Miss, I can employ you to be a manager in one of my territories. I like that you are fearless, bold, strong and beautiful. I know you have experience in this business from the way you move. I will pay you more than you will ever need if you will take up the position.” My first instinct was to spit on his face but I restrained myself. He was shocked I was not affected by his offer. I thought of how I could deceive girls in the name of travelling just to enslave them in a sex trade on another man’s man. How could God ever forgive me for that? I was now getting to seventeen years old and had committed so much sin. I couldn’t add the guilt of ruining innocent lives to it. But I needed to get out in order to find a way of saving at least, my country folks. So I disengaged my eyes from his in what looked like a surrender. 

Issidro spoke calmly to his people and within minutes, I was in a classy car heading to a neighborhood I didn’t even know. It sure was a beautiful neighborhood. I was told by my driver we were going to Roma, where my apartment was waiting. It was a beautiful two storey house painted blue and white. The flowers in front of the house gave it a cosy look. Its ash tiled roof gave it some air of annoyance I couldn’t explain. Maybe because of Ms. Barwuah’s explanation that ash, apart from its connotation of wisdom, also had an expression of old age in a major sense. So more like the end. I hoped the end had not come for me. I had four strong security guards. They obviously rode behind my car. I entered and saw everything arranged just for me, hall, clothes in wardrobe, shoes, perfumes etc… The bathroom was white tiled, beautiful towels were displayed in something like a glass wardrobe. Water heater, everything anyone could think of was there but I just broke down in tears at the thought of Dansoa. I felt so guilty. Maybe I should have left her to go through the first phase. Her deflowering wouldn’t have been so bad. Her man wasn’t cruel. He was sweet by the standards of the work. Why couldn’t I mind my own business? How could I have interfered in hers to cause her death? I thought I was doing her good but I ended up killing her. I tried to pray but felt God had closed his ears, and rightly so. I thought of my mother, father and somehow, was glad I had a brother and not a sister. I was under the shower for over four hours, until I heard someone knocking on the door. I wiped myself clean, put on a night wear which I found there and stepped out. 

My eyes met the eyes, eyes of eagles. Eyes I thought I had known for a long time but impossible to link to source. I stood there frozen at the figure carrying those eyes. Suddenly, I felt I was not alone. The world continually surprised the young me.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 1, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​AT THE BRINK


I see the hollow hole

At all sides

How even this air turned mole

And the earth dug all my sides

Makes me feel like one who stole

From Satan’s slides


II

The mouth of defeat sings piercingly

Being cheered on by the drums of fear

The laughter of failure resonates across the dept of doom

If only I can see a ray of cheer

From a sky of sympathy

If only I can feel a stray air

Blowing in smile from these unfriendly breezes

If only I could get wings of a fowl to hang in mid air

To find an outer space

If only…

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 30, 2018

​IN THIS POEM (CRAZY STANZAS)


On this dead branch

Carried by water, I thread

Each step, a shocking surprise

Interlaced with fear

But like a blessed cat with nine lives

The soul carries this body in moving on


II

My only cocoon is you

This poem, where my bed of peace is laid

My only home is you

This poem, where my cool waters pamper for a swim

My only shade is you

This poem, which arrests the murderous sun

And serves a breathing seat amidst all the dying

My only shelter is you

This poem, in the midst of perilous snakes

Which hide in trousers of life to defile my happiness

My only saviour is you

This poem, which baptizes to cleanse my soul

Of the daily dirty stones pelted by life’s criminal side

My only hope is you

This poem, you, a perfect diary keeping my mind in

In you


III

I am so far from home

Carrying a load which directs my path

Directing dusty even when tarred roads beg for a drive

Yet I live in you, this poem

You who promises to take me back

Back to the perfect place I belong

That perfect place, where moths can’t pimp me

For the pleasure of the earth

Masking my life into a walking ghostship

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 29, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 24 (18+)

He just looked at me like a child in need of a biscuit. A born mother, surely is a woman with her heart out in her hands, dangerous or even deadly, but one overflowing with love. My heart went out to him, so I hugged his tall body to give him warmth. I had the height of an average model but he was very tall. I sat him by the dining table and served him, he ate heartily at the disgust of Mimi and I took him to his room, called the doctor who thought it could be amnesia or developmental delay. I decided there and then to be his guardian. For some reason, sex no longer appealed to me. I had to even pinch myself in order to satisfy old customers with fixed schedules with me. I was anxious and couldn’t wait for the call. It finally came a week after. I was to present my passport for it to be worked on. When I reached the United States, I would have to work to pay the expenses with 200% interest. I had no problem with that. After all, wasn’t the US a place of gold?

I was amazed at how fast everything went through. I didn’t even have to go for a visa interview. I was to meet the others for takeoff the next day. I told Mimi the next day but she threw a fit like I had never seen her do before. She told me to cancel it as it was a dangerous trip. She said people had told her how horrible they were treated on those trips to a point of many losing their lives. I guess death, when approaching, first deafens. I called Ms. Barwuah to tell her I would be gone for a while but would surely be back. Something I said just to make her feel assured. I named my big son Kossi. He was vulnerable but adorable and followed me around. I asked Shai to take care of him and told Mimi I would eject her from my house and cut all ties with her if she so much as bullied him, on my return. Ten percent of my profits were to go into his care. 

Mimi just insulted and cried. It was sad how she only cursed God for blinding my reasoning. I sneaked out of the house after bribing the security man who loved me as a daughter. My light bag in hand, I chartered a taxi and went straight to their office. We all took off ten minutes after my arrival, to Accra. It was a four hour ride but we were held up for 33 minutes because of the dense traffic around Achimota. I was thrilled as it was my very first travel outside the country. We were taken to Travis Bar and Restaurant to eat and proceeded straight to the airport. Our passports were given to us with tickets when we were going through the security checkpoints. There, I saw Mexico written on it and was confused. Our caretaker might have read it on my face so passed me a note that we’d go through Mexico. I relaxed a bit, but couldn’t get rid of Mimi’s voice and tears. 

We reached Mexico in what seemed like days because of my anxiety. Mexico City was beautiful but nothing too special from my home capital. Only, people seemed more livelier and carefree. We were driven to a neighbourhood called Merced. There, we were locked in immediately our rooms were shown to us and left there to rest. We were 48 in number but only 10 of us were kept in the house I was kept in. I went straight to bed because I was very tired. Others spoke at length about how weird it was but I had no ears to listen. They too, eventually slept. 

The next morning was a real struggle. We tried to look for a telephone to no avail. Called out to neighbours but none seemed to hear us. We all tried to break the door when a giant screen in the hall showed us a wrinkly Mexican, probably about 45 years old but looking older than his age. He barked and ordered that we sat to listen. We were to be prostitutes to grow his company. He would be generous to feed us but if we tried to run away, he wouldn’t mind sending us to our graves. To him, we were his slaves. He dared us to try to defy him. One loud girl whom I never had the opportunity to know, not even in name, barked back: “This isn’t what we signed up for Mr. This is illegal and against…” before she could finish her sentence, a bullet rushed through her forehead, killing her instantly and giving us temporary deafness. Fear surged through all of us. We didn’t know where the bullets came from, we only saw a hole on her forehead and another at the back of her head speeding through her in opposite directions. Pretty as daylight, tall as a mermaid, with a choco brown skin anyone would die for. She was that first candle in the torrential tsunami. 

We were to be tested before our roles would be given. Those who were able to satisfy their men would be sent to their own flats with security men. Those who couldn’t would be trained and given a maximum of three months to cope. Failure to cope within the three months was tantamount to death. Our lingerie were beautiful and perfect for our skins. After eating, we were asked to wear them and wait in our various rooms. I saw the fear in the eyes of the youngest amongst us. She was fifteen. Dansoa was her name. She told me of the fact that she was an orphan and a virgin. She just wanted a new environment to forget her parents’ death. My heart went out to her but my hands were tied. I didn’t have the power to do anything, let alone help her. 

My guy came in a minute after noon. He looked normal, not tall, not short, just average Mexican with black teeth. I nearly vomited upon seeing him slyly smile at me but I remembered what Mimi taught me. “Think of the best person who made love to you and use it to satisfy pigs.” And so I did, and decided to take charge. As I got up from the bed, he just slapped me so hard, and pushed me on the bed, tearing my lingerie apart like a savage. It all took me by surprise. Before I could gain my composure, he penetrated me like a horse. It surely was painful but bearable compared to what I had seen and experienced before. I only hoped he’d stop biting my breasts but was afraid of what might happen to me if I showed even a little resistance. Yet I could not help thinking about Dansoa. The pig went on and on and on for over 45 minutes, thrusting and not coming. Nothing surprised me anymore so I laid there in an uncaring mood. He finally came when I used my forefinger to insert into his ears. It took him by surprise but he came. I was shocked at his cumming manners. He kept on hitting me and roaring like a lion and a boar combined. That was the first sound I had heard so different from the cum sounds of maniacs I had encountered. He left after a minute of rest and I crawled to the bathroom to see what was left of me. It was bearable. Black skin was after all better with bruises. The bites were visible, the slap marks were also representing on my face but promised to go down soon enough. I rushed to Dansoa’s room hoping she was alright.

She was lying on the bed terrified by her own shadow. I asked her to go to my room. She thankfully understood and went. I took her lingerie and waited for her client. He was a gigantic pig with a mean look. He wasn’t aggressive at all. The sex was thankfully okay as he wasn’t too big. It lasted for a little over fifteen minutes. He laid in bed for ten minutes, kissed my cheeks and left. I hurried to my room and asked Dansoa to go back to hers. She was grateful but I didn’t know how I was going to keep up with it. 

Two hours after our first clients, our boss walked into the house with three men. He called all of us to the hall, nine of us and called me out together with Dansoa to step forward. I knew there and then that there was trouble. The slaps I got said it all. He barked like a wounded dog and asked who I thought I was outsmarting. Then he held Dansoa by her hair, threw her on the floor and called his men to step forward. My heart sank into my stomach. What did Pedro want? What did he want to do to the poor girl? What scars was he going to give to the poor orphan? I knew the tears of a virgin was a curse to a rapist in some parts of my country but didn’t know of Mexico. A place where human lives are taken over by just anyone with power. Dansoa looked into my eyes, her terror visible and calling on me to do something. But, but, but…

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​WHAT YOU DON’T SEE


A star that annoyingly glitters

With just a 26 alphabetical order

One whose words are like blows

One whose words are like lightning

Striking bad clouds and digging goosebumps

One whose words can draw beauty in minds

One who has arrived in many towns of the nation

And continues to charm

That may be the words on your mind

But what about those you don’t see?


II

A skeletal build

With veins of neglect

Blood of stress and thirst

Meat of hate and pure hunger

Skin of punches of cold in a harmattan visit 

And bowl of heat in sunny days

Nails which have tasted the hammer of many quarries

Eyes which have joined the run against death

Legs which have collapsed and been whipped by need to a wake

Why do I see them so well?


III

In every glitter lies a story

A story that can reflexively call for your sorry

And may even unchain your worry

To get on your sympathy lorry

So clap not in jealousy

Bite no tongue in a revenge challenge

Think of the worry within the glitter

And applaud its shine

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan 27, 2018

IF I HAD LISTENED TO MAAME (CRAZY STANZAS)

If I had listened to maame

I won’t be stuck in the middle of this road of life

Carrying a burden that my shoulder breaks

One that has taken over my sanes

Farming bloody rains around my once starred eyes


II

She did tell me not all that glitters are metalsmithable

And adviced I cleaned, bit into, burned

To verify authenticity before singing the Hallelujah of worship

No matter the wings and shine of my find

Did I listen?


III

The sun preyed on my fancy

And connived with all the garbage in shinning stones

Winking in blinking into my sinking

So I picked what was not

Thinking it was what was

Now I stink so bad

On a heavenly road whose scent mask me out


IV

How can youth so blind

Making this head turn behind 

Even when legs pull?

How can age not be shed

Like skins which outlive their time

To fetch rightness in the past?

How can perfection so wrinkle

In time’s deadly exploration

In giving surprised heart attacks?

How can remorse not be a magician

To right all wrong in all that is strong?

How could I have been deaf to youthful exuberance

Letting maame’s voice go

With the deadly winds of the past?


V

If I had

If only I had

If only I had listened to maame

If only I had honoured the words of my vehicular womb

Earth would certainly have been kinder

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 26, 2018

​IF MY TOMORROW NEVER COMES

If my tomorrow never comes

And my end’s vehicle lands

Will I, like a legless eagle with broken wings, soldier across

To my ancestral land with a smile

Or throw tantrums and be dragged there like a prisoner?


II

If my tomorrow never comes

What will I be on tongues of others?

A chewing gum whose sweetness would be sucked in few seconds

And spat out after I reach earth’s mouth?

Or bile, which would for sometime stay 

In tongues of some unfortunates?


III

If my tomorrow never comes

Would a kind heart take my crippled chick

And hen it despite its current hopelessness

Would it be fed like it needs to?

Given warmth as it needs to?

Tended to as it always needs to

Even when hungry hawks chase?


IV

If my tomorrow never comes

Whose intestines would thunder in pain?

Whose eyes would swim in a bloody sea?

Whose mind would be stirred by a ladle of sadness?

Mouth would call for an explanation train from the quarters of God?


V

If my tomorrow never comes

I wonder the teeth that would open its shop of happiness

The spirits that would pick up my soul in gladness

My deeds that would sum up my fate in the court of death

Above all the hearts that would break into million pieces

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 25, 2018

Meet One of the Youngest Social Entrepreneurs in Africa: Mirabelle Morah

Today our guest post is one of the youngest social entrepreneurs I know. She has used social media to tell untold stories, emboldened so many young lives and healed people from their nightmares. Let’s welcome the bubbly and beautiful Mirabelle Morah

AMOAFOWAA: You’re welcome to amoafowaa.com

MIRA: (Laughs) Thank you so much Her Royal Majesty, Amoafowaa!

AMOAFOWAA: Briefly tell us about Mira, from childbirth to now.

MIRA: I came into this world one beautiful Monday in April, during the late 90’s and I grew up in a family where the reading culture was very much encouraged so I developed a healthy love for literature while young. In between studying English & Literary Studies at the University right now, I also volunteer for different youth or societal based organizations whenever possible. I also am the chief editor of Blankpaperz.Com, a digital platform I founded for promoting and amplifying the stories of young African writers who are using words to address societal issues. Stories and written words are really powerful tools for raising awareness, changing paradigms and even for advocacy, hence I want to encourage and support as many young writers as I can by publishing stories on Blankpaperz and organizing events or workshops for bloggers and writers. I also studied Social Entrepreneurship at California State University, Chico as a SUSI student leader and I’m also a 2018 Global Teen Leader.

AMOAFOWAA: Wow! Who did you grow up reading?

MIRA: Interestingly, I think I grew up reading Cyprian Ekwensi, Chukwuemeka Ike, Zaynab Alkali, some other Nigerian authors and even some Harlequin and Silhouette novels. Chimamanda Adichie came into my life during my early teenage years and she was really a huge influence. AMOAFOWAA: Favourite food?

MIRA: (Laughs) Anything African that tastes really good!

AMOAFOWAA: Blankpaperz. What motivated your inspiring venture?

MIRA: I just wanted an online website where I could post my stories and also post the stories of some of my friends, and maybe their friends too because I knew really amazing writers who just wrote and didn’t put up their stories or poems any where so people could read them and be inspired. I started a little bit afraid and unsure, but the idea of publishing my friends’ stories online grew. Blankpaperz is growing past online activities into bloggers & writers meet up and writing workshops. I look forward to working on more ideas and partnerships to encourage and support more teenage or young writers, and to also cover deeper stories and articles from people who are afraid to speak up. 

AMOAFOWAA: How noble. How old is your venture?

MIRA: I started Blankpaperz in April 2016.

AMOAFOWAA: Has Blankpaperz met your expectations since you started?

MIRA: Just like a baby grows everyday, Blankpaperz is growing and the expectations are growing alongside. My expectations overtime have been met and exceeded but for the goals I have right now, no, my current expectations have not been met yet and they’re still growing.

AMOAFOWAA: Any role models?

MIRA: Jesus because He’s tagged as one of the most influential persons who have ever lived. Nelson Mandela because of his selflessness, his great big heart, his love, his humanity— how did he do it?! Chimamanda Adichie because she writes about societal issues in such sublime ways.

AMOAFOWAA: Won any awards?

MIRA: Yes, a medal of honour from Street Priests foundation in their work to reduce the population of street children, being honoured as a YALI RLC West Africa Alumni, awarded the Study of the U.S Institutes for Student Leaders scholarship by the U.S Department of State, being tagged an Ashoka Changemaker, etc. I can say those are awards too, right?

AMOAFOWAA: Of course. What is your dream occupation and why the choice if any?

MIRA: Haha! Dreams grow! One time I wanted to be a professional roller skater, then the best female guitarist in West Africa. Then the best singer. Then another time the best paint artist and even a missionary (laughs). Currently? It’s hard to paint everything into the picture of “an occupation.” But being human, lending much ink, lending my voice to the voiceless and amplifying the stories and plights of people that need to be heard across borders is what impassions me the most. I will like to work with IDPs and help them. I will like to hug young boys and girls, make them laugh and tell them everything will be alright.

AMOAFOWAA: An inspiration you are. Between power and failure, where would you put social media on the scale of 10 to 0?

MIRA: Okay this is tricky! I will say 8 for power and 2 for failure on a scale of 0-10. 8 for power because social media is so powerful! You can reach out to all the people you never expected to reach out to beyond borders. You can get people to fund your cause, you can use it to raise awareness and advocate for a cause, you now know what’s happening in different parts of the world and so much more! It’s also powerful for negative reasons like the nasty things you put on social media can come back to haunt you years later.  For failure also because we connect less with people physically now. We are always on our phones, missing out on the real time and real life conversations we could be having with people and all the beautiful moments we could be taking into our memories. We also spend time online admiring people’s —too often ingenuine online — lives more than we build our lives.

AMOAFOWAA: Who are your favourite singers and athletes of all time and why?

MIRA: For musicians I’m a fan of both Hillsongs and Bethel Music because they move my soul to worship. I like Falana music too and Alicia Keys because they sing about the society often. My favorite athletes are Seun Adigun, Ngozi Onwumere, Akuoma Omeoga the Nigerian Bobsled team and Usain Bolt because these are people who worked hard despite limitations and looked beyond their circumstances.

AMOAFOWAA: What is the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done?

MIRA: Me? Don’t I look like an Angel? (Laughs). 

AMOAFOWAA: (Laughs) Well… If you were made president of Nigeria presently, what are the things you’ll change to transform your country?

MIRA: Being the head of a small group or a large country is never easy! There are always things that will work for and against you! But for your question, I will pay better attention to Nigeria’s failing educational system by allocating better and adequate funds, enforce stricter national security actions to stop all the mass killings, improve Nigeria’s electricity and infrastructure, encourage #MadeInNigeria products by making systems much more entrepreneur friendly, enforce stricter laws and actions on rapists and sexual predators, etc.

AMOAFOWAA: May you live to be a president of Nigeria. What do you think are the underlining problems of Africa?

MIRA: Greed of leaders

AMOAFOWAA: What would you look out for in choosing your future husband?

MIRA: (Laughs!) Oh my God! This is such an interrogation, Amoafowaa don’t you think?! Someone who has God at his core. Someone with vision and is kind hearted towards the needs of those around him even though unconnected to him. Someone optimistic too! 

AMOAFOWAA: Sorry for the interrogation, I am a mind harvestor. Are women at par with men in enjoying rights of humans in Africa in this 20th century? Justify your answer.

MIRA: Africa is such a huge continent so I cannot make a conclusive statement for an entirely diverse group of people. In certain places women do enjoy basic human rights as men do but it’s not everywhere! So to the best of my knowledge and effort at generalism anyway, no! Africa as a continent is not yet at the point where women and men are both at par in enjoying basic human rights. Many African communities and families still do not see the essence of female education. In the work place there is still disparity between the wages of women and men as well as the uneven and low percentage of women in positions of power — but this is actually improving. 

And also, girls mostly in rural communities are still being (sometimes secretly) subjected to Female Genital Mutilation and even when they have the rights to say no to FGM, it goes against deaf ears because their families want to “prepare” them for their husbands and “reduce their promiscuity.” Wow! 

AMOAFOWAA: Hmmm. What in this world do you think we need to check in order to maintain the earth? 

MIRA: We need to check the rate at which we trash mother nature with our dirt! We need to be more aware about recycling! Stop dumping plastics in the rivers! Stop deforestation! Even after drinking a sachet of water, I usually put my wrap in my bag or hold it until I get to the nearest trash can and I put it in there. I don’t enjoy littering. 

AMOAFOWAA: What is your favourite line in Nigeria’s National Anthem?

MIRA: Every single line in the second stanza of the anthem which we don’t sing too often. 

“Oh God of creation

Direct our noble cause

Guide our leaders right

Help our youth the truth to know

In love and honesty to grow

And living just and true

Great lofty heights attain

To build a nation where peace

And justice shall reign”

AMOAFOWAA: Powerful stanza. Your dream for Nigeria in fifty years?
MIRA: Selfless leaders and individuals at every level — including myself — with conscience and genuine care for the growth of the country and people.

AMOAFOWAA: Advice your followers and followers of amoafowaa.com

MIRA: Keep being creative, ask questions, work hard, have integrity and remember to always TRY!

AMOAFOWAA: Thank you for your time here.

MIRA: You’re awesome! Thank you so much.

AMOAFOWAA: You’re “awesomer”. Her inspiration came in this form:

 FOR MIMI MORAH

A young flower blossoms

In beauty, plastering care in many bosoms

Her nicely scented nectar of rightness

Healing stems of broken flowers without tiredness

With a huge future to share

She starts uprooting many a nightmare

From weedy minds 

Breaking chains of suppression of power blinds

Her hopes of a world with no fault

Making her a rich and blessed vault

Though her road be long

She waves always with a smiling song

You lotus flower in muddy grooves

I cheer as your power moves 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 21, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 23 (18+)

Death is the junction of crossroads of reality of oblivion for every living soul. Renesh was mourned nationally, her secret rendezvous nicely covered by a streak of luck or by her parents high social status, yet our mourning continued. Bemi’s was filled to the brim, sex workers, both males and females sympathized with our fallen mate who was now above pain in a mythical space. It was tears, wailing, painful laughter which called for alcoholic beverages. I could see the fear written on people’s faces. 

I can’t tell how the funeral turned into an alcohol festival but before we knew it, all the gigolos were taken, even the homosexuals were screaming for help, but it was a place typical of survival of the fittest. I reckoned at least many knew we were the safest for ourselves for just that day. HIV/AIDS and other infections held no dagger which killed instantly, no one in that building had thoughts or power to judge each other, we were like same grains in a common bowl, and we were ourselves; this time having sex with no thoughts of money or kindness. I know many will think it disgusting but what better way to mourn the death of a prostitute than sex? If spirits really lived forty days after their death, they certainly would want to see some action before they finally leave, especially if they died at post. I couldn’t come to terms with making the first approach, Mimi came to me. Slowly massaging my scalp  at first, then kissing, hugging, crying, fingering and falling in tune with the diverse moans and painful pleasure in the air. Of course, some might have had ulterior motives in coming, but human nature couldn’t have been criticised at that moment. It was a mourning festival of sex that transcended gender, ethnicity, political lines, religious beliefs, individual differences, talk less of death. We lived in the now.

I missed Ntwanu, Guru, Massai and their entire group. On that day, I needed the warmth of a strong partner, the assurance of a strong protector, the thrusts of a manly man, but all I got were memories of what was. I felt alone even in the midst of many but it was all about Renesh, not my fears, not my loneliness, not my past, nothing of me but everything about who I might turn out to be. Every escort group presented Bemi’s with money, or drinks or snacks. I saw the family unit come together and I knew at least, I would get a befitting burial in case I also fell and my parents refused me burial. Of course the Anobeng family would disown me if they realized how I lived my life in any circumstance.

By 12am, all our guests had left, our girls cleaned up. Mimi, Shai and I left for the house in quietude, each immersed in her own thoughts. Right in front of our gate, a slim, tall man hugged himself in tears. He looked like a 30 year old with some issues. He had bruises all over and was shaking with tears. Mimi asked that we sack him from there as calling the police might put us under scrutiny or implicate us in whatever shady deal he was into, but I was of the opinion that he needed to be tended to as he did not strike me as a bad person. He refused to talk to us so I called our security man to help take him in. I called the doctor who came to dress his wounds and we put him in the boys quarters. 

Sleep was of tossing and turning but eventually I boarded its train which headed into a dreamland of chaos. A place where hell’s bondage fucked my crying cunt in a fire which battled and overtook pride in plucking my heart out but kept it there, beating in horror of my reality.  I woke to the sound of my phone. The lady before me called that I needed to be at the premises because only ten people remained between myself and my interview. I got up, showered briefly and dressed in my formal wear; red shirt tucked into a black fitted skirt, with red heels and a black bag to match, which had been prepared since I got my number and hearded out.

The interview was brief, it seemed my interviewers were more interested in the way I looked than the way I thought. They asked of my education and I told them I was still awaiting my BECE results. They were pretty satisfied with me and asked that I kept my phone by me all the time as they might give me a call. I left for the house, went to the room of my guest, fed him, cleaned him up and read for him Ola Rotimi’s The Gods Are Not to Blame. All he did was look on. He smiled when the funny part was read but was in a pensive mood.

Mimi had sorted out all our problems and was waiting for the next week to open our phone lines but was scheduling meetings for big clients whose wishes could not wait. Shai went for a quickie that day, came back and called one of her personal clients for a free fuck. Asked why? She told us of the uncanny thing that had happened. Apparently, all she had to do was to be teased by a woman as her husband watched in their matrimonial bed. She pricked her nipples, sucked it a bit, placed kisses randomly on her body, stroked her hair, licked her cunt and when she was ready to be ridden, the lady’s husband climbed the bed only to fuck his wife silly, leaving her hanging. She watched them, a little shocked but immensely disappointed as they handed her her payment and dismissed her. Mimi told us that was not weird at all. She had met someone who would only have sex with her when she was in her menses, (Shai’s “May Allah forbid” blasted the room like a radio gone bonkers), she had also met a man who only wanted urinal straight from the vagina into his mouth, he drank and moaned as though he was in a sex gala, she had met one who only wanted her to shave his nostrils, massage and suck his nose, he paid well and came loudly in the end. I asked that she stopped as I had not reached her height, only to see Shai headed to her room. 

I was about to get up when I saw the guest standing in front of my door, I could swear he looked familiar but what was scary was the fact that none of us heard him come in, none of us saw him pass by, and how he got to know my room and stood by the door was also something. Clearly, Mimi’s thoughts were written on her forehead, that he should be sacked immediately as he was dangerous. Still, I felt the need to protect him. 

“What is your name? I asked”

By Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​ANGEL OF HIDDEN GOOSEBUMPS


There is a summer hut

On the roof of the moon

Which all prying eyes cut

Waiting for us to swoon

So do those problems shut


II

We need our hands threaded in symphony

Our feet running in a perfect dance

To tickling sounds of harmony

Our eyes writing our thoughts in each other at any chance

Making our tongue’s pools our sweet and ever tasteful honey


III

Let our laughter rise from our souls

To massage our feet

And strengthen our soles

As happy songs follow through our street

Through our glowing hollow holes


IV

Oh gracious holes, where jumpy songs metamorphose into cool

Only to our fluttery hearts soothe

Who cares if we merge into a fool

With a heartbeat oh so smooth

As long as we end as each’s perfect loving stool?


V

After tickling ourselves silly

Like magical eagles, let’s fly to moon’s roof

You in me and I in you, even better in the chilly

As we each laugh at our many a goof

Climbing through the hardened even through the hilly

You are after all the angel of all my hidden goosebumps!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 20, 2018

​WHEN HIS PANTS ARE DOWN


Worms wriggle

Dogs bark

Cats mew

So be careful of birthed promises

When his pants are down


II

I know of flowers who have lived on clouds

With plucked stars and moons

Bedding in chariots of all their fantasies

Dancing to the tune of Cupid’s best

Only to fall as rains

Into a hell of fire whose ashes flew

With airs of regrets

Into deserted forests of disappointments

So careful of dishes of promises

When his pants are down


III

They build believable mansions with words

For their tongues are the pencils of architects 

Whose sheets need crumpling sizzles

And tails need your wet wiggle

In their burning passion

Whose lifespan is as short as the shine of fireworks in the sky

So oh beware

Of the sound of holes of deceit

When his pants are down

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 19, 2018

DEAD CANES IN KUKUBALI

Sitting in the past with the wrinkled

As my time’s stars stood in the greenest twinkle

I heard of eyes, potent in closure

Even in most secluded holes

Seeing hectic moles who fates stole

In the near tomorrow

The near tomorrow which garnishes my feet today

Yet I laughed like a wise soul hearing the voice of the foolish


II

Running in the past with the “cruel”

A cane spoke of love with corrective scars

In gift of a future with no blemishes

Maame nodded and applauded her brother

Papa got another to join in

All eyes sparkled 

Hands clapped

I felt like a Jesus never welcomed in his own home

The present now looks at the past with glee

Gifting its long gone hands unmeaningful late handshakes 


III

I dined with the past whose children had ears

Soft ears

The past whose children had no mouths 

In elderly presence

I dined with the past where young ones vanished

Like myths in elderly visitations

And did feed respect on plates of good upbringing

Nana would cry in happenings of today

Watching through spectacles of ancestorhood

Glad I have no lenses to see his countenance


IV

I wonder where all the magic canes of path direction went?

I marvel at the hard ears with sharp mouths

Which toddlers clutch as blessings

I wonder how words put together to protect

Handcuff wills to correct

I wonder

I do wonder how far this belly’s fruit would go with its generation

In madness of rights

What I see in closed eyes of the future

Hell fire so heatedly hazy

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 17, 2018

BE THE LIGHT

In this cave of pain

Where insanity is in rain

Planting needless disdain

Like that felt by Cane

Be the light in my train


II

You know thoughts which sit in the main

Driving me insane

Oh God of my brain!

Break these haunting chain

Which my good waters drain

Can’t you see I am in pain?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 14, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 22 (18+)

Dreams are easy to pluck in sleep, certainly not with opened eyes and a working body. There were over a thousand people to interview before me so I bribed the one before and the one after me to call when it was left with 30 people to reach my turn. At home, my bed was of needles and nails with their pointed edges. When sleep became too painful and eyes became too sore, I called Mimi and asked for a meeting with all the girls. In two hours, we were all seated at our restaurant which had gone through so many name transformations to be called Bemi’s. There was a brothel attached but only people in our circles knew. 
After agreeing to close down for a week, we decided to organize a small funeral with closed groups in our circles for her. So many calls had come in from our sister escort groups, even one gigolo group had sent their condolences. We set the funeral for the next day and sent out messages. Our girls dressed in sexy black clothes with beautiful makeups in her memory. Her best wig was worn by all. I provided drinks, hard liquor, all day in wait for the next day. Even Shai drank to stupor, her Muslim vows relegated to the background. Pictures of Renesh Kutram were printed and made the background pictures on all our walls as we played sorrow filled songs in our enclosed space. 

Girls cried, vomited, as some promised to stop the job once they got enough money to set themselves up. Those who did drugs and couldn’t stay without sex forced their fellows to have lesbian sex with them as there were no men around. We were 56 in all. Some girls mimicked Renesh. “Hey you! You there so sad you can hardly breathe! Come for these coins to buy some happy drinks.” And the coins were always notes which shocked the hell out of the receiver. “You can have my car if you want to flex, wear my clothes if you need them, you can even have my pay, I don’t really care.” I was beside myself with grief. I realized everyone there had a story to tell, so opened the mic and asked anyone who wanted to share their story to do so.

Heavens, a twenty two year old, took the stage. “I had dreams too. I was going to be a lawyer. I too had a father who loved me very much, but death took him away, sending me to stay with my mother and my step father. I too, tried to be a good girl but my mama just saw me as a nuisance. I too wanted to be a virgin till I met the right man but my step father raped me when I was only twelve years old. I too wanted my mother to take my side but she threw me out of her house, saying I wanted to ruin her marriage for her. I tried to work on the street only to be fucked like hell every night by anyone who wanted to, until I decided to make money when a pimp, approached me. Sleeping with more than 20 men per night for a fixed fee of five cedis, I too suffered until I met Bemi Escorts.”

Another took the mic.

“Hi, I am Angel Jane. When I see people who had family complaining of maltreatment and leaving their homes, I feel jealous. Why? Because I was told my mother was a Kaya yoo. No one seemed to know where she was from. The one who many thought to be my father, was the first man to rape me when I was ten years old. He gave me out to men without properly feeding me till I was sixteen. I was the one who killed that son of a bitch. I was. I stabbed his chest with his own knife when he drank and wanted to have his way with me over and over again. I mean, he did it with me five times and wanted a sixth. The man wanted to kill me so I killed him first. His group members beat me to a pulp and threw me into the Sanho River. It was Renesh and Shyzle who found me when they came to smoke there, took me to the hospital and introduced me to Bemi Escorts.”

“Hi, I am Oremi from Nigeria. Growing up with a mother who was a prostitute was enough ridicule in school. She would make sure I stay out until she was done with each and every man lined up in our little house in one of the worst slums of Lagos called Amukoko. While I was in SHS 1, three boys who knew my mum gang raped me in the full glare of some elderly people in Amukoko but no one was ready to help me out. When I got home, I took my mother’s money and run to the Ghana Station in Lagos, and followed one woman to Ghana. I was helping her sell drinks until she introduced me to prostitution. After cheating me for three years, I met Aunt Mimi who introduced me to Bemi Escorts.”

“Hi, my name is Cheesy Baby. I run away from the house because my parents were only concerned about my sick sister. They didn’t care about me at all. I was 15 when I fell and broke my leg. They only sent me to the hospital, and paid a nurse to tend to me while both of them took turns to care for my sister in another hospital. This sadness forced me to live like I wanted and was glad I met Gold who took me in. Then she cared for me until I felt the care of man, kisses, hugs, sex (some shouted “Ashawo!”) and I realized I had arrived. Thank you for this fine family.”

“Hi, my name is Give-It-To-Me-Babe. I got married at the age of six, was sent to my husband’s home at the age of nine, got pregnant at the age of 11, gave birth prematurely and lost my child. My in-laws chased me out of the house because they claimed I was a witch. How they came by that conclusion, I still don’t know. I contracted an illness whose name I still don’t know due to the early child birth. I smelt so badly that no one will have me around. I met Renesh who sent me to the hospital and cared for me until I was fully well. She wanted me to go to school, but I was too old. Shyzel invited me to few meetings and I loved the escort business instantly.”

“Hi, I am Mironi. I was born in a family of ten. My father had four wives, and had eight children with my mother. Feeding became a problem as he was irresponsible I had to find ways of helping my mother feed us when I was only thirteen.  The first man who took my virginity gave me one cedi. I was glad because it bought my family enough gari and sugar. So I kept doing it with him, and adding other partners until the whole town got to know I was a slut. I got pregnant but none of the men wanted to take responsibility for it, so I aborted it. The abortion landed me in a hospital because I used grinded bottles with sugar and a bottle of Guinness. The rumours were too many after. My father whom I barely saw disowned me, my mother who sympathised with me could not do anything about the taunts of the village so I fled to Kumasi, all the way from Kintampo. I could only sell myself to survive after multiple rapes. I was introduced to Bemi Escorts by Cheesy Baby, who saved me from robbers one night. Renesh became one of my best friends. I am sad that we lost her.”

“Hi, I am Auro. Many are those who cherish great relationships with men but due to the abuse my father meted out to my mother, I swore never to give in to man and to use man for my daily bread. Since infancy, he would beat my mother, throw her out at the least opportunity. My mum always ended up coming back because of me. He ended up killing her one day after I went back home from school when he pushed her onto the hard cemented floor for not saying please when she asked for chop money. I was devastated when he asked me to say my mother fell by herself when the police came home to question me. He did try to take care of me afterwards but I left home a year after mum died. I was fourteen years old. Although the streets were unsafe and I met quite dangerous people, I stayed because I realized it was better to see the cruelty of others than my father’s murderous face. Renesh was my school mate, she introduced me to Bemi Escorts. It is sad to know she is gone. Gone forever.”

“My name is Jaye. I am Indian as you can see. On my way from school one day, I was raped brutally. The whole village of Babai got to know of it. And they really dealt me a blow. Some women came to my house to insult me, the youth wanted to lynch me, the men finally drove my family and I out of the village. They said I had brought dishonour to the land. (She paused to cry making all cry with her). My father died that day. He had a heart attack. My mother bit her tongue and killed herself a day after. I had no where to go. Everywhere I went, I was either raped or sacked. I ended up in Mumbai, got a good Samaritan to give me some money and jumped on the first flight that came. I ended up in Ghana, followed a woman to Kumasi and was introduced to Bemi Escorts after a year of struggling in the streets.” 

“Hi, my name is Dream. I was brought up by the God is Good Orphanage. Whereas everyone knew the home as a Godfearing one, our patrons used us, the matured girls, for prostitution for their own selfish reasons. They kept telling us it was for the welfare of all of us but it was not true as there was always not enough food for all of us. Every girl who turned fourteen was forced to have multiple sex each night with strange men, yet many people donated money, food and clothes to the house on weekly basis. I decided to run away after my second abortion. I met Cash who introduced me to Bemi Restaurant and later to Bemi Escorts. I loved Renesh, she always made everyone happy. ”

Stories kept on pouring, from school bullying to lack of confidence by parents to poverty to loneliness to orphans, to early marriages, abuses etc. I realized how unfair most girls were treated in the world. How cruel societal laws were to women of the earth, how bad we lived and how unfair it is to us. We drank and drank and drank and drank till sleep stole our hopeless bodies through that accursed night. 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

AT THIS CROSSROADS

At this crossroads

Where good leads to bad

And bad leads to good

Stands the whip of fear

At all ends


II

At this crossroads

Righteousness begets pain

While cruelty begets peace

Yet conscience acts judge

With a gavel of suffering


III

The lioness in me battles the sheep I am

The tears in me drowns the heart I have

Weakened nerves promise electrocution

Of wits and sanes and love and suns

Yet this crossroads have no pointers


IV

Is there an ultimate judge

For an afterlife trial in a life’s dilemma?

Is there a hell fire for a righteous crime?

Is there a punishment for a sin of love?

Life’s rhetorics butcher like a savage, at these crossroads

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 12, 2018

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 21 (18+)

A broken body knows no will. I was broken from within but just had to wake up, do my morning rituals and head for Krono, where the interviews were taking place, to try my luck. The need to travel and be a been-to was driving all my fatigue away. I was shocked when I reached there to find out that the 1450th person was still anxiously seated, begging for questions from those privileged to have been interviewed. Someone told me to go and check back the next day and I was too happy to oblige because truth be told, I was very tired and needed to see the doctor for some antibiotics to mend my pain. 
The family doctor was called and in a matter of fourteen hours, I woke to a refreshed me. I had slept so soundly that I did not even remember dreaming. I went to the main hall to find no one there. I combed through the whole house but there was no one. I went to ask the security man who told me about a problem which drove all of them out. According to him, he did not know what but Mimi and Shai were so shocked and in tears as they boarded the car that two of our girls brought. I called Mimi who picked instantly and in tears, asked me to come to the Ejisu-Juabeng Market area to see something. I picked my keys and drove like a mad woman to the place. Luckily, there was no traffic. 

Many people had gathered around a naked body whose tongue, private part and breasts had been cut off. A corpse in its pool of blood on the bare ground, looking like one who fought to live but sadly lost. I immediately recognized her as Renesh Kutram. She was a bubbly girl who lived like a queen. When she came under our wings, she had everything: A flashy car and always wore expensive dresses. She was one girl who was a prostitute because she loved having sex. We all did not know her story because it was difficult to get her to open up.  I nearly jumped on her with tears but Mimi and Shai, sniffing the air through their tears, restrained me. They pointed to a wealthy looking couple and I instantly knew they were the parents of Renesh. I recognized her father instantly. 

Hon. Richard Abakah, the minister of Education at that time. They were weeping. There was also a young man who stood there weeping and cursing them.

“If you had made just a little time for us, she wouldn’t have ended up this way. How could you do this to us? Both of you can vanish for years and just leave us by ourselves with just that nanny whose interest is bullying! Now you have killed my sister. Are you happy about it? You should be jubilating and celebrating! Why are you pretending to care?”

The police came then, covered the corpse, put it in their hearse and took it away. Many people were now looking at the couple with questionable eyes, as few sympathized. When they left, mouths started working. “Ei! So they abandoned their children and left them to go wayward?” To this, so many people deduced many explanations and insults. “Ah! To think they look so wealthy! Why do children of rich people always end up spoilt?” To this, someone claimed it was the curse of money. It was amazing how no one recognized the Minister of Education but us. They rained insults upon insults on them. I pitied Renesh there and then. Who could have done this to her? How did she end up as a corpse in Juabeng? What actually happened in her home to drive her into the gutters of prostitution? 

I was too shaken to drive so Mimi took my wheels. She told me that the order came in late. She advised Renesh to call their senior who was seeing to the orders every hour. Apparently, Gold, the senior, said she received her last call at 1am. She claimed she was now being picked from the hotel to a location she did not know and so would call when she got there. I took the helpline and saw she sent a half message at eleven after 2am. “Don’t know where I am but in tro”. I was furious. I asked Gold how come she did not see the message to check her location? She started shivering. I told Mimi I could not ride in the same vehicle as a negligent girl and so she was given money to get a taxi. I cried all through. It wasn’t as if we could wake the dead and ask her who had done it but the reality was starring us in the face. If you gift a chicken to man, he does as he pleases with it. Then again, this chicken was not gifted to whoever killed it, we only left it on a hire. What was obviously worrying was the fact that a ritualist had been able to get our order line. The best option was to change our phone line, add an imperative location clause to the order or get security men for our girls. The latter could have been best but surely would be expensive. I told Mimi to let us close down for a while to see how best to solve the problem but she was her usual business minded self. We would revise the phonebook, send our customers the new phone line and make sure we investigate all new orders before we send any of our girls. 

It sounded like a cool idea but I was livid. How could she think of a brilliant idea like that when one of us gruesomely lost her life? Was she born with genes of callousness? I called her names; “Monster! Witch! Wicked woman!” but she was Mimi and had come to know me so well, so she pleaded with me to calm down and said if it would make me feel better, we could close down the business for few days. She parked the car and took me in her arms, massaging, caressing with soothing words as I cried my heart out. A beautiful girl gone down the drain. I could picture her face in my mind, how sweetly she smiled to show her perfect set of white teeth, her bubbly nature which made all love her, just 19 years old and gone with the wind.

When I gained composure, we turned on the radio in the car and continued. It had turned into a serious issue on all radio stations. There was an allegation of Renesh being murdered by her father’s rivals in opposition. That political attachment made sense but infuriated me the more. Sex and murder, such an uncanny thing. Whiles someone prepared to pleasure you, you prepare to take her life. I didn’t get the connection but I realized it might be religiously right to kill someone whose occupation is deemed a sin by all religious bodies. Then again, something must kill a human being. I was determined to get out of Ghana and for the first time, knelt down to ask God for forgiveness and a pass during my interview so I could flee, flee the barbaric realm I found myself. But I realized conscience interfered with my prayers, I felt too dirty no matter how hard I bathed to ask for forgiveness. So I dressed up and made my way back to Krono, hoping my fate would change.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​THIS GLOBAL VILLAGE


In the wake of this breaking

Where the world lives a touch away

There is no need for a shaking

Of wits and hurts and hate to stray

For the world goes round and round


II

Today the best sit in an earthquake of disagreement

Tomorrow a small island

Might hold the reigns of power

Riding a great fallen like a horse

In a rough road of gravels,  broken glasses and piercy metals

So there is no need to dig out supremacy

On plates of subduing many

In a championship hunt


III

Oh what beauty will show

If all fingers of nations hold! 

Oh what beauty will show

If genuine hands of nations extend to each other

In a festival of diplomacy

Oh what love will bind

If unbeneficial power’s throat is slit

In a farming of togetherness

We are what we choose to be

In what we choose to do

In this global village

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)  Dec.  5, 2018

​INSECT TOWN


There is an insect town

On this beautiful living lawn

But all passersby see

Is the beautiful grass and its fee

Yet night planes their insecti-flight

And day takes them from sight

It is like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool


II

What is seen may not be

Once roots are brought to be washed on the head of a plain sea

In the ground many bites abound

On land much pretense surrounds

Even though our hearts know in capital letters

We wear our hypocritical matters

Acting in dancing even when we’re being bitten like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool


III

My teeth line up

Even when my voice shuts up

When I see eyes turn red

In a covetousness hidden in singing and begging to be heard

What can a hiding ant say

In a convention of hunting lizards on a pay?

Human bodies is mostly like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool

Shinning royalty, feeling pains

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 4, 2018

​THE REFLECTING WAKE


I saw your birth

And I feel your dying heartbeat

You are a babe who came with the birth of many ambitions

And like all babies, you had your needy conditions


II

The footsteps of time has seen many changes

From many ranges

Plucking down hopes like ripe oranges

And hanging hopes like fake bells on Christmas trees

Yet our needs pile in readiness

To travel with another you


III

It might be greed to our prides and egos feed

It might be seeds to our ambitions and targets lead

It might be fire woods to our dreams and aspirations 

Turn ashes in the passing winds

Yet our eyes stand open

Like a needy church in a sin zone

Waiting to embrace another in your wake


IV

The tears of thanksgiving

The promises of stoogehood in indefatigable working for your new born replacement

In churches and clubs and houses and streets

Will let you know about human loyalty

But take heart in your death

Knowing you were like this new born

Whose fate tallies yours

Taking time to brush your vampire teeth

Which chewed many in the happiness of others

And clouded to rain on eyes of many

Whose curses justify the happiness at your cruel wake

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec 31, 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 20

Honey digs out unknown palates from the land, air and sometimes water. Some river fishes are only seen when baits are casted. I was shocked at the number of people lined up at the office which was recruiting people for odd jobs abroad. I heard from other people there that some people came to sleep there overnight. Many were smartly dressed depicting their high social classes. I wondered what was fuelling the needs of people to leave our precious nation but it dawned on me that I was the last person to think of that. I, Adwoa Attaa Anobeng, who have almost forgotten my name, the filthy me who left my village in search of greener pastures in the city and was jumping at the first opportunity to travel out of the country. The need to survive, the need to make it, the need to be the talk of your own after succeeding, the need to earn the bragging rights of a been to, the need to have much dollars and pounds were all part of the factors. 

There were security guards who were making sure all of us were in line and they were all rude. Shouting on top of their voices and going as far as slapping people they thought were out of line and caning sellers who just wanted to make a decent living. I sat there the whole day but it was obvious I would not make it to the interview that day. So I left, hoping to return the next day after asking someone to keep my place and number for me. I was number 3,476 and there were more people after than before me. I left when number 16 was being interviewed at around 2pm.

I had an appointment booked for 2:30 at the Royal Hotel. Mimi had told me it was a very important person so I had to handle him with class. I wore a pretty deep blue short sleeved dress that went down to my knees, put on a sexy see through white brazier with matching panties and chose a Far Away perfume over 212 glam to impress. I had used Scion Fem Wash after using alum water to wash there; my there. I painted my nails red and chose a red lip stick with the best facial powder I had then. I looked and felt good in a blue black stiletto heels with a black handbag.

The Royal Hotel stood like a magnificent dream at the outskirt of Ejisu. Painted sea blue and white with great paintings depicting culture and class with its name carved in a golden metal, its security man was in his security room regulating the main gate. I zoomed in and parked appropriately and made my way to the presidential suit with the help of the receptionist who could not help looking at me. I was shocked to see the Minister of Health seated in one of the finest sofas I had ever seen, drinking Scotch on the rocks.

“Turn around”

I paused for three seconds, looked at the mannerless man and regained my sense of duty. After all, he owed me nothing but orders. Orders I needed to obey, so I turned around, heard him whistle, come closer, smacked me on my buttocks, threw an attire on me and asked me to go in there and change without even a second of rest. I changed into a deep green short skirt and top with a little hat which needed to be pinned into a small part of my big weave. 

“There is my air hostess!” His exclamation told me just what would happen. Role play sex. I was shocked at the furniture and decoration of the room. To say it was beautiful is an understatement. The bedroom had one of the queen size beds with such beautiful sheets and sophisticated shape that took my breath away. He pointed to a cart with food and asked that I served him like an air hostess on a plane? I was taken aback. I had never boarded a plane before and didn’t know how they served. He might have read it on my face but still expected me to make a mess of myself. I pushed the cart with food to him on the bed and asked him what he’d want. He told me coffee and I served it to him. After drinking, he threw the cup away and grabbed me onto the bed. It took me by surprise but I leaned in to his rough kiss. Then he shouted on top of his voice “You wench! Struggle with me! Try not to give in to me! I want you to fight me you wench!” I complied, putting up a fight because at that point, I realized he was not worth it. Seriously, I wanted him to stop so I could leave. I didn’t want to be treated badly by a national thief. 

I put up a fight but it was obviously not enough. He was stronger and had me at a vantage point. He slapped me many times, bit my breast, kicked me in the knees and threw me onto the woolen carpeted floor. I might have twisted my wrist but he did not care. He threw punches that targeted my joints, then tore my clothes off. Still wearing a t-shirt with a jeans shorts, he removed his little man from its hidden supporter and penetrated me while I cried. 

“Cry louder you wench! Cry louder bitch!” I didn’t know the meaning of “wench” then but the sound of it offended me more and enhanced my aching joints. He was a big man. His rude thrusts felt like insults on my injured pride. Pride, a thing needed to be discarded like rubbish in my chosen profession but a thing I couldn’t come to terms with throwing out. The first round ended with pains all over my body, bites around my neck and mouth and a bruised vagina but the brute was not finished with me. He lifted me like garbage and threw me on the merciful bed. He held my knees together and placed me in a doggy position with a heavy dog chain which I failed to see when I entered the room around my neck, penetrated into my painful golden hole with thrusts as painful as the digging of a pickaxe on a live body. It was a very horrible moment with the man rumoured to condone expired drugs importation for huge profits. A man rumoured to care less about the plight of patients in hospitals let alone the feelings of workers under his care. A man chosen into the Health Ministry solely based on his ill wealth and great connections. A man I thought had some conscience and so wanted to believe was a victim of rumour. Too bad that clearly had some truth.  He shattered my soul and body. When he was done with me, he spat on me, unlocked his dog chain and hid it in his bag, then called for someone, leaving me helpless on the bed. I tried to get up many times but could not. 

When the man, a 47 year old looking man, came in, Hon. Shaibu Attugubu ordered that he cleared the bed. It seemed he was used to doing what was asked him so he looked for my clothes in the bathroom after doing away with my ruined panties and brazier and put my deep blue dress on me. He sent me to the sofa in the huge hall, went back to probably finish cleaning and called a doctor or whoever he was, to attend to me. My wounds were attended to in the room close to the presidential suit, I was given some massage and an injection and slept off. When I woke up, I felt a bit better and could move. I called for water and was handed a glass full by the man who cleaned me up. He apologized to me and told me to never mention it to anyone as the minister was going through a tough time with many scandals and problems. Of course I knew it was a cover up but I didn’t want to be threatened now that I had no one to take my side when the law catches up with me. He gave me a sum which blew my mind away, a very huge sum of money and ordered someone to fill my tank and drive me back to wherever I wanted. I knew it was a way to check up on me so I asked the guy to drive me to Hotel Akom at Tech Junction and booked a room to sleep there over the night. 

My cell phone rang and I realized it was Inspector Amamoo. He told me he wanted to collect his gratitude. I was all sore and wanted to reschedule but he insisted. As a rule, I did one man per night and per day, unless on rare occasions. But I just had to invite him over. I put up a face and gave him “some” ride as his lazy bones laid there like a log, moaning like an uncouth housewife in a jealousy taunt sex close to the room of her rival. What was worse, I had to cope with his loud snoring the whole night till dawn. Something which compounded my growing headache. Still, I thought about ending prostitution by going abroad and leaving all the bad memories behind. I would go for my interview even if I am confined in a doomed prison, I thought to myself. 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​THIS SCAR OF MINE

I am like a peacock
Feathery in coloured beauty

All eyes see is the pride that hides my painful ride

All mouths rap are rumours in parcelled fancy

About my stretches which naught fetches for their eyes

Most ears love the sound of my wrong in the spit of a tongue

None sees the scar beneath the feathers

Funny, they watch from a blurred distance


II

I am like a goat

My fur milking my sweat dry

Confusing my audience

Even when life hits in thundering strikes

They confuse my jump of pain and shake for sanes 

For stubbornness

Claiming disobedience when I walk on live coals

For things of my interest

None cares to know about the scar which drives my need


III

I have a scar 

Which has bought for me an expensive and durable insomnia

A seed freezing stiffly, shaking painfully

In jerks of spittles and fecals

In the town of sleep

Caring not about time

Caring not about place

Caring not about an occasion

Always fighting with swords to light its wounds

Why can’t they see?


IV

Why can’t they see the tears which drives my fears

In a dark tainted expensive limousine of no salvation?

Why can’t they hear

The heart which stops to beat and beats to wail

In a heavy wall of loneliness situated amidst the taunting chaos?

Why can’t they see my fall on the bridge of success?

Could it be they are too low to see?

Why do heavy boots kick my name

Into gutters of shame

A shame they are hunting for keeps?



V

I wish they see what drives their greed

So they can be freed from their shackles of inner and outer battles

For in this rattles of horror

I am trying

Trying hard to hold my own

Mending my scar the best I can

Even in its taste for swords of woundy rekindling

But then again

Why is this dramatic mind confusing few for all

Buying sorrows in my precious vault 

With currencies of over thinking?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 30, 2017

​ROYAL SALY

The ocean blankets your very warmth

The trees serves the gentle air on plates of satisfaction

The flowers wave in beautification

Giving smiles like that of a gentle sun

Even the thatch whistles your modesty in luxurious melodies

In a realm where breathing in and out is a Messiah’s gift

Who dares to breastfeed sadness on your royal laps?

Oh Royal Saly!


II

Ashoka picked you for a reason

To make the dawn of enlightenment in your season

To show present grasses how huge they’ll grow into trees

In just few years

To urge them to strive no matter their fears

Even if rains of hurdles drain their sanes

As harmattan of confusion clouds their skies

In such arms of comfort

Where nature bows to humanity

Who dare to nurse chaos?

None but a phantom!

Oh Royal Saly!


III

Where your sea ships sit in call

Our fallen love is called

Where your sea sands wait with blessed fingers

We go in happy massage of our feet

Where your pool mirrors our wonders

Our souls look to see the face of God

You are where colour fades in supremacy

A place where humanity blends

Into a beautiful and peaceful earth

Why will a frown visit faces in your bosom?

Even half a reason exists not!

Oh Royal Saly!


IV

A dream of mother earth!

A star location of Africa, a bragging fort of Dakar!

A cola on tongues of visitors!

A fortunate bride’s gift!

A fulfilled soul’s dream!

You are all these and more

Oh Royal Saly!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 30, 2017

Photo Credit: Ashoka Crew

Ashawo Diaries 18+ (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 19

Only an old rat promised some beautiful times with old nuts can resist plucking a blooming young nut on its giving tree, even so, well… Inspector Akuffo couldn’t close his mouth when he set his eyes on me. I didn’t need to be told he was captivated. He ushered me into the seat directly opposite his fine desk as he carefully sat into his chair.
“Errm, pretty one, you are Bee, Bee, Davids huh?” I nodded. “How may I help you?”

I could sense the tension in the air. I needed to let that tension be so thought of a clever way to present my case. I leaned into my chair, crossed my legs, licked my waterproof lipstick mouth, adjusted my breasts in their comfortable straps until I saw him fanning himself.

“I need you to help me get justice for my friend Inspector.”

He nodded sheepishly and added “sure, sure” sweating in the fair air condition.

“My friend happened to be friends with a cruel woman Inspector. The only problem was, she didn’t know the woman was such a conniving and scheming person. She confided in her that she needed some girls to work in her bar and restaurant. The woman promised to get her some girls. My friend thought she would use right ways of recruiting not knowing she was a child trafficker. Because my friend decided not to have anything to do with her when she was arrested, she is now implicating her. I am talking about Queen Bash’s case”.

Immediately he heard Queen Bash’s name, his countenance changed. He seemed to be in a state of confusion. 

“Well, that is a case I…I … I… can’t interfere in. You know it has attracted so much national and even international attention that…”

I stood up, cat walked to stand right behind him, bended slowly and held his stiff shoulders and massaged them. And in my sweetest voice spoke almost in a whisper.

“Well, inspector, I am not asking you to interfere in this, I am asking you to please help give my friend the justice she deserves. I can swear on my life that she knew nothing of this.” 

Inspector Akuffo Ben Arthur started swallowing his saliva in a successive hurry. I could sense he was highly aroused. I bended closer and took his ears in between my teeth and gently licked it. He gasped and took off his suit. “Ei Awurade! Aaah! Erhm! Ao!” He was muttering under his breath. I worked my way to the cave of his neck, and boldly slipped my hand into his shirt, then into his trousers and caught his little man. I massaged it while caressing him with my other hand in other places until he poured his thick and much porridge into his supporter and collapsed into my arms out of orgasmic fatigue. I could sense he hadn’t gotten some in a long while.

When he regained consciousness, he called those handling the case and ordered that Mimi be exonerated in a believable manner. I was shocked at how much of a pro I had become.

“You know you need to compensate me well? I mean, show better gratitude to me”

I placed my forefinger on his lips. “Shhhh. You don’t need to say that Inspector. I know my duty and I do know very well how to show gratitude. I am many things but ungrateful.” He seems satisfied and assured. I left him my card and asked him to call when he is ready to be compensated, whenever, wherever and left.

For some queer reason, I felt horny on my way back home, so called the agency to give me a quickie appointment if there was any, and luckily there was: a diplomat who needed an hour with an escort. I drove straight to his hotel and liked what I saw. He was a very handsome man, tall with fair body, smartly dressed. I greeted him and he shyly responded. 

“All I need is for you to act satisfied and happy in bed with me and I will give you anything you ask for.” Well, anyone who knows me knows the word “anything” intrigues me. I wanted to strip him naked and get down to business but realized what the man needed was to be in charge. It was written clearly in his eyes that a woman has slapped his ego by giving him a fail in bedmatics. So I lowered my eyes, waited until he lifted my head by holding my chin, and kissed me. He wasn’t a great kisser but wasn’t bad either. I moaned, partly to please him and partly because I was highly aroused. He lifted me onto the huge queen size bed and gently sat on top of me, taking off my clothes and touching me all at once. He massaged my soles; it tickled and excited me. Within seconds, I was begging him to worship in my temple because I was so wet. He wasn’t big, neither was he small. He was an average man who clearly gave me such pleasure I had not had since Ntwanu vanished or died. I liked to think he was still alive somewhere. In fact I believed in my heart of hearts that he was still alive. Diplomat Amamo was good in bed and I pleased him with my pleasure. 

I asked him why he needed to go to such lengths to ask a lady to feign satisfaction when he was a good lover. After realizing he was in the mood to talk. He told me about his wife. According to him, he couldn’t think of hurting his wife but the woman wanted to be whipped and tortured in bed. Something he considers an abuse so had refused to heed. His wife verbally assaults him, that he is not a man, even to the hearing of some members of his household. I was shocked that some women could not have candid communication with their men. A gentleman who can’t afford to whip you for your pleasure simply needs to be tutored in a way that cannot hurt his ego. Then again, if most women performed their marital duties without flaws how would we get our married clients?

I laughed and told him about BDSM. I taught him about how some people derive pleasure from pain and asked him to try some soft BDSM with his wife like slapping her buttocks, tying her to a chair or bed and stroking the senses out of her, hanging and fucking her to orgasm, tying her hands behind her and doing her in doggy. He promised to try and took my number to book for an hour every week to try. I left his hotel smiling but the reality of our agency’s trouble with the law hit me like a punch from Azumah Nelson in his heydays. So I drove home like a mad girl.

I still couldn’t come to terms with speaking to Mimi. I knew very well she was innocent but still felt like punishing her to be careful. I went straight to my room and thought of all the bad things associated with my job, thought of all the girls that people like Queen Bash had hurt, switched on the television and radio and wept. 

I heard an advert that shushed me up. It was an advert seeking beautiful ladies to be sent abroad for work. From house helps to receptionists. Instantly, I saw myself smartly dressed and seated by a desk at a reputable company’s front desk. I wiped my tears, went to take a cold shower, boldly wrote the number of the firm down, called to book an appointment for the next day and slept, dreaming of planes and nice looking faces making enquiries and dollars with an impeccably clean environment

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​CHRIST IS BORN

(Merry Christmas to all! Have the best of the season)

We wake with will of a win

Cling to the song of Christ’s birth

Flinging all that carries burdens in a bin

His birth signifies sin’s death

Oh Hallelujah, the king is born!


II

We whistle with warmth wherever

Knowing our lows will never flow with the ending 

Of the river of the year, never ever

And every broken soul will be mending

Oh Hallelujah! The king is born!


III

We work our wrestling within

With hope of eloping any pending traps

Which seeks to wear us out thin

In the hands of the leading as maps

Oh Hallelujah! The king is born!


IV

With or without

Let feuding hands shake

In or out

Let all pain break

Slim or stout

Let pride and egos inflated, roads of healing take

For oh Hallelujah! Christ the king is born!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©Dec. 25, 2017

​ON ACCIDENTINOLOGY (CRAZY STANZAS)

Many minds have different layers of thoughts

Superstition leading their mental institutions

Abena, I believe in human fallibilities

We are mostly like stubborn goats

Pushing to the very places whose whips

Still lick their mouths

From the burst skin they plucked from our bodies

Why?


II

Some drivers have turned fishes in alcoholic seas

Driving like swimming in a shark hounding

As passengers hold their seats like cowards

Hoping their hold saves from any incident

Ah!

There are those who think to be late is to be LATE

Flying in the guise of driving

Some love challenging fishes in seas

Pretending their skins have fins 

Going places marked in danger

Some indulge in bacchanalian orgies

Their noses turned noticed rat holes

Lighted into smoke-hood

Their minds heated by hard drugs

Their egos inflated by alcohol

Their daring enhanced by reckless madness

Why won’t accidents and deaths be attracted?


III

Those who visit temples

And temples who accept congregants without scrutiny

Dweebaadweebaa is not written on foreheads

Neither are its neighbours of infestations

Know you are an egg

Whose shells can’t tempt death by falling on its hard grounds

Know you are a glass

Who can’t play pilolo with death

Know you are mortal and a very breakable doll

As happiness beckons on this festive season

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 24, 2017

​CROWERS AND PECKERS


When the crowers of today turn peckers at dawn

Feasting on feeds of hens and chicks

While time walks without turning back

Their future in saucepans of history will be painful

As the only spices on their bodies would be pepper of frustration

Ginger of hurts

Salt of under development

Tears of penury

And cubes of curses

Let earful cocks clean their ears

As they stand on pedestals of high repute

In their youthful dawn

And heed to the call of change

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 22, 2017.

​LET YOUR KINDNESS WALK


Let, let your kindness walk

In sneakers on these slippery tiles of need

Let, let your kindness walk

In knighthood in this festival to feed

Let, let your kindness walk

Like Santas who give to goodness lead

Let, let your love walk the talk of giving


II

There are bodies living in nakedness

Walking in paupering madness

There are stomachs of roaringness

Living in pain of weakness

There are hearts sitting in loneliness

Hoping for a smile of humaneness

There are hearts living on bitterness

Hoping for acts of kindness

So let, let your love walk the talk of love

To please the celebrant above

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 22, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 18

Oh how true the statement “absence makes the heart grow fonder. Every day without Ntwanu felt nauseating. I felt like I was walking on needles. My intestines felt like stones in my stomach so didn’t crave for food. Getting out of bed took weeks and the intervention of my escort family. I cried until the tears turned pepper to burn my eyes. Life felt too burdensome. It was amazing how a common heartbreak could hold the centre of my heart and squeeze with the rhythm of every second. I don’t know how I got through it, but I did.
I just got up one day, remembered I came to Kumasi alone following a total stranger. I remembered all I went through without Ntwanu, Guru and Masai, I remembered my determination to succeed so I could go back home to my aggrieved parents and apologize, I remembered all I had suffered and achieved and suddenly a new zeal filled my heart. My bitterness turned into an even more passionate need to survive. 

I had made a huge amount of money from the escort business. I held a 50% share just as Mimi. We had sixteen girls working for us but our demand was on the rise and so we needed more. Mimi always wanted me to help with administration but I was not interested. Recruiting more girls meant a lot of nightclubbing to scout for me, but another for Mimi. According to her, we could contract someone to do it for us. I didn’t care much knowing she would do excellently well with or without me so asked her to do it her way. 

When I heard Mimi had been arrested, I rushed to the police station only to see her behind bars slapped with child trafficking and murder charges. I was dumbstruck. I called a minister friend of hers upon her instruction and within five hours, she was released.on bail. On reaching home, I threw my purse on the glass centre table and started shouting, crying and acting crazy, demanding she explained what happened exactly. In tears, she asked me to calm down, sit and listen.

She met Queen Bash during one of our general meetings. She was of a higher rank than her and owned an escort agency but she somehow lost it. As to how, Mimi said she didn’t know. She contacted her to help us recruit. A week after, she was arrested and was told why only after reaching the police station. 

Queen Bash had gone to several villages and promised poor parents of beautiful girls that she would make their wards famous and rich by bringing them to the city. She had ten beautiful girls between the ages of 10 and 14 and successfully brought them to Kumasi. She contracted three men to deflower them and they also cruelly did.  The ten year old started bleeding profusely in the process and they could not stop it, tried as they did. So she passed on. While disposing off the body, Queen Bash and Roma, the one who deflowered the girl, were caught. Queen Bash then called on Mimi to help but she didn’t want anything to do it so bailed out on her. Unluckily for her, the issue attracted national attention so she mentioned Mimi’s name as her accomplice. The story got me so emotionally wrecked. How could she be so callous as to recruit such young and tender girls into prostitution and how demonic was she to contract strong men to break them apart like that?
Now we were looking at child trafficking and murder charges. As I cried and blamed Mimi for not taking a wise decision, her Honourable barged into our house, furious. 

“How could you be this foolish? Child trafficking and murder charges? Don’t you know who I am?”

After everything was explained to him, he gave Mimi a name and a number and asked her not to contact him until she had finished sorting out her business.  Apparently, the person was the Inspector of Police and we needed to find our own way around him. I just couldn’t get my made up visuals of the poor girl bleeding to death after being cruelly deflowered from my mind. It is true I started early and was still a juvenile and a boss in my own game but I was never forced into anything. I cried and cried till my bloodshot eyes could take no more. Then we arranged to meet the Inspector to find a way to exonerate Mimi. 

“Hello, my name is Bee. Bee Davids, a fan of yours who urgently needs help. May I be booked for an appointment? Any place of your choice Inspector.”

The voice that came out of me even mesmerized me so it was not surprising he agreed to a meeting the next day at his office. I rushed to my closet to find a suitable attire. I spotted the right one, a red formal dress with an appealing look which was a little above my knee level, strapless with a small petty coat to go with it and a black penciled heels with a black purse to match. Although I felt trashy within, I knew I was going to look too hot to look as I felt, so took a long bath, occasionally remembering the trio I needed to forget and stepped into my bed. Eyes know no sorrow, the elders did carve this proverb in the highest wisdom. Sleep stole my thoughts and me into an abyss of a frightened dream about young girls being raped and tortured to death by bleeding.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​CUNNING SMILES


Eno Bowaa, Akusua Duku, Ama Afarewaa eeei!

Kofi Amoabeng, Opare Kusi, Agya Obuo eeei!

When the sun travels east in settlement each day

My thanksgiving becomes as tall as fading shadows

For your smiling teeth which held daggers in the dark

And worked on a battle with my back


II

Is it fair?

Is it fair that you pair my kindness with a cross

Meant for thousand Judases?

Is it fair?

Is it fair that you greet my right palm with your dirty feet

After feeding you in your haunting seat?

Is it fair?

Is it fair?

Is it fair that you plant a lion in my hen coop

When my eggs feed our town?

What philosophical madness holds spirits so vile

That its possession makes you drunk in hatred?


III

Eno ne Agyanom

I have landed on my buttocks at your feet

Kick with your feet or your sticks

Send your spittle to rain on my honour

Shoot your words like poisonous arrows 

To pierce the heart of my sanity

Blast any hope walking to my rescue with bombs of your falsehood

Otwereduampong is not a blind seer

Asaase Yaa is not a conniving mermaid who can cast a spell

To make you immortal

So use a gutter broom to sweep my importance

Life is but a clone of faults

Bouncing on walls of Karma

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 18, 2017

​HONOUR THIS PRAYER


You know the spine of every palm frond

Holds it firmly 

Even in the slaps and blows of the wind

You know a seed holds the future of its fruit

You know divinations of norms

Twist paths of stories

I am on this drive which the winds of life turn

Abrempong mu Obrempong

Lead my drive!


II

In a vehicle where I am a passenger in a bit

A mate in a bit

A driver in a bit to be turned into a passenger again

Only to get off at your appointed station

I need you to perfect my seed

I need you to fix its all

I need you to hold it into independence

So I don’t turn the alighted not so delighted

Anyame mu Onyame

Lead my drive!


III

This road is filled with claws and pores

Yet my tyres have no where else to thread

Every puncture fills the fun of fickles

Every stop digs the greed of pushers

Every break oils the need of the unscrupulous

Every empty tank calls for even thirsty gallons

So Odomankomah!

Odi Asaase yi so ahenkan!

Judah mu gyata!

Please lead my drive!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 17, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 17

Little things from the pocket of love open ways for bigger things. Ntwanu’s birthday fell on April 25, two days after the BECE examinations. I didn’t know how to surprise him. He had done so much for me that I wanted to show him how grateful I was. Forget about our differences, which relationships do not have them? Mimi suggested I threw him a party, I didn’t want the noise and knew my man appreciated his privacy. Shai was of the opinion that I cook him a meal at his residence and treat him to some romantic vibes. It sounded too simplistic for me so I settled on my ingenuity. I bought a flower, a book by his favourite writer; Chinua Achebe, a shirt brand he loved in a sea blue colour, a diary, boots I knew he loved, an expensive wristwatch, a big parcel bag and a doll (He had a thing for them). I knew he would go to the Mother of Hope Children’s Home to donate something to mark his birthday so took the lead there. 

I bribed the children to each hold one gift, with the bag leading. They hid in strategic places on the path leading to the home, (which was built in a forest) to handover to him and follow him to the place.  He took the bag right down to the doll and couldn’t hide his grin. He was happy and I was even happier seeing him smile so brightly. We sang the birthday song for him and he proceeded to give his donation amidst the merriment of abundant food and drinks which I provided for the home.

Two hours later, we made our way to his residence where we danced to Kojo Antwi’s “Me Ne Wo Bɛ Wo Akɔnɔ Ba”, holding each other so tightly. Then eyes looked into eyes like prized mirrors. I loved seeing myself in there, mouths brushed and hugged like perfected pieces of split kola nuts, hands merged in a match-like lighting, raining goose bumps from the sky of our passions. I was in heaven or some place lovelier. The clothes vanished under his expert hands, I held his hand and led him to sit on his bed then modelled for him in my nakedness. He was pleased. 

His prized stick stood, when I stood on a table and touched my parading meat in the bowl of my clitoris, man impatiently whisked me from there, placed me doggy-wise and with mouth full and warm, planted hot kisses on my bare back, glorifying my body in the space of the potent air conditioner. He then penetrated my already wet temple and stroked in style. It was seven minutes of pure bliss which ended in the cross position. After, we cuddled and did not pay attention to Ntwanu and my phone’s continuous ringing. 

We might have fallen asleep in our own fantasies. I opened my eyes to see so many men surrounding us. Thick and tall men all armed to the tee in mufti. My first thought was that the group’s deeds have been found out, but it looked like something more, something I couldn’t fathom. Completely unarmed, Ntwanu was asked to step down from the bed with arms raised or risk losing me. I got up and demanded they told us what they wanted. Ntwanu restrained me by holding me with both hands as if shielding me from harm. Between a split second we were in the roof being gunned down. Apparently, his roof was bullet proof. He picked a gun between some wires and made to fire but I shook my head. He looked at me for a second and got clothes from the roof for both of us. He, clothed in jeans and Lacoste, me in his shirt and leggings. 

We jumped into three compounds away but were met with another set of armed men, we were trapped. Before we could think, they aimed and shot at him. So many shots at once. He fought and put me behind him but I struggled free and stood only to be met with a bullet. Everything became dark, all I remembered was his shouting and anger as he opened fire on them. Fire for fire and all went dark.

I woke up on a hospital bed surrounded by armed police men. There were no familiar faces but I heard voices of so many reporters out there. The doctor closed the door after him and tended to my shoulder and thigh wounds. I asked where Ntwanu was and was told to be quiet and be attended to. I got very angry and started hitting the doctor in a moment of madness asking for Ntwanu. An injection was seen by my blurred vision and before I knew what was happening, I was out again. 

I woke up this time chained to my bed. I couldn’t lift a finger as I felt sore all over. All I wanted was to know how Ntwanu was but no one would speak to me. I prayed silently to God to save my man wherever he was being kept. I just couldn’t think of anything happening to him. I just couldn’t think of that possibility. The room was clean with green tiles, two police men were stationed by the door, an attending nurse sat close by, folders were neatly arranged on a table west of the bed, the ceiling was concrete layered and painted white. There were no windows, even the air-conditioning seemed to be against me. I was trapped in an unfamiliar grounds and the silence was deafening. A laughable paradox! This time, no one was coming for me. I felt it in my bones and couldn’t stop my tears.

I didn’t have the means to calculate time. I fell in and out of sleep and was forced to eat, sometimes, food infusions were forced into me until my wounds shrank into a bare scratch with occasional pain. I was transferred to an even more obscure room. There was nothing but a table and a chair and a bulb. This time, I was too frightened to even cry out. I sensed I was in deep trouble but all I could think of was Ntwanu and what might have happened to him. 

An officer came to visit me on that very day. 

“Hello Miss.” I looked at him with indifference, making his friendly advances look stupid but he pressed on.

“May I know your name?” I still looked at him with no intention to speak but remembered Ntwanu, Guru and Masai’s schooling about dealing with the law and Ms. Barwuah’s little law tutoring so I acted on it.

“May I know for what reason I am here?” I queried.

“Don’t be alarmed, you are here for an interrogation but first tell me your name”.

“Bee. Bee Davids”

“Nice name. Where are you from?” 

I couldn’t hold my patience anymore.

“That shouldn’t matter. Please tell me the reason I am here and being interrogated. If I am under arrest, then I need to see my lawyer now. If not, then let me out of here”.

The man played nice and told me about Lauran Brutes, Stenticon Chocks, Bryan Raymond, Darren Hyde, Ryan Dupri, Mascot Force and many other names and the fact that they were one and the same person. According to him, he is a spy for the United States of America. A CIA agent trained in marksmanship, a sniper skilled in disguise, one of the best hit men the world has ever seen. One who could negatively influence the public policies of the country. A treacherous person who had committed treason many times and deserved to be brought to book. I didn’t know what that meant but didn’t like the tone of it. 

“So what exactly do you want from me?”

“We need you to tell us all you know about him. How you met, for how long you’ve known him, any secrets you share, your name sounds American although your tone is very Ghanaian, are you also an agent?”

I laughed so hard that he had to join in the laughter. I told him I didn’t know anything. I knew him as Ntwanu and he was my one night stand. Somehow, I figured divulging anything that happened between us could give a clue or two about him, so decided to make it short. He left and another officer came in.

Stout, tall with a mean face and a brutal spirit. Holding pliers, he told me of how bad I can hurt myself if I hid information from the BNI.  When I told him same thing I told the first officer, he slapped me so hard I fell from my seat and soiled myself with urine. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t a gentleman. He said I couldn’t be delusional in my search for him if he were only my one night stand. I had to give it to him, he was intelligent but I had been trained to be on top of intelligent people. The first officer came and angrily asked him to leave, apologizing on his behalf but I knew then what they were doing with me, the good cop, bad cop routine but played along.

I was tortured for days. They used spiked batons, electric shocks and  ropes, hanging me leg up for hours. The pain that was inflicted on me was nothing like the pain I suffered in my heart. Why did he lie to me? To think clearly of it, he didn’t exactly lie to me, he only did not tell me about it. Then I thought maybe he was confused with someone, or he was a good CIA and the BNI just wanted him out. Whatever I thought about did not add up so I decided to stop thinking about it, deal with the matter at hand and be free.

After days of saying the same thing, I was sent to be tested through a lie detector. It was easy. Days of lying about Ntwanu being my one night stand saw me believing in it. So I passed and was left to go afterwards.

I reached home a wreck. An eye popping out in blood shot stains, lips sore and swollen, ankles bruised, skin almost in ruins with a low spirit. The taxi that took me home was a brand new one. The white man who was driving sounded familiar but the headache I felt then did not permit me to think about it. No money was taken from me, just a note that read “You’ll be keenly followed from here on. Be sure to live with no link to your trouble. Chew this paper after reading”. The taxi had left before I read the note. I chewed it as instructed and realized I had to stay away from anything to do with Ntwanu.

Mimi, Shai and many of the new girls took turns to take care of me. But I was a spirit shy from my body. I knew time would bring back the smile, but it sure would walk like a conceited bride in a high profiled wedding. Still, everyday will perform its plastic surgery on my hurts. That I was sure of.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​THE UNFORTUNATE CITIZEN

These eyes still have their seals

Primitive living

Oblivious of a world on wheels

A cup for mouths and animals

Like Abels in a Jesus world

They live laughing in loving misery


II

I have seen anuses feeding their soil

At the full glare of many

As flies chorus the pushing

I have seen the flies following and dining with hands

Blessed with brains

I have seen a going and a coming 

With nothing to show

Tired muscles screaming through showing veins

At the injustice done them

There must be blessing in ignorance!


III

They give with no knowledge of benefits

They chant with no knowledge of duties

They thumb with no knowledge of implications

This must be the dream of politricks!


IV

You beautiful hearts in an unfortunate place!

Arrested by need!

Punched by greed!

Entrenched in the past!

Intoxicated by ignorance!

How I wish modern literacy were a spell

Under my helpless grasp!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 12, 2017