Let’s meet at the boarders of Ayaase

Where the strong tree stands tall

And the divided earth lies strong


Let’s meet at the  boarder of ayaase

Where one hole leads to life

And not doom


Let’s meet at the boarder of ayaase

Where the tree is ripe with unseen fruits

And the fertilized earth awaits its load


Let’s meet at the boarder of ayaase

Where pleasure takes charge as the tree’s roots penetrate the earth

Like a possessed fetish dancing to the tune of an akom music


Let’s meet at the boarder of ayaase

Where the earth moans as the rains fall

Wetting the road for the tree to enter its temple with ease


Let’s meet at the boarder of ayaase

And make a beautiful or handsome little tree

Which will grow  to replace and provide shade when we shed our leaves.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


Triumphing over the many hurdles to beat the many schedules of life

Accepting the many corrections to better the future reflection of strife to make a difference

Meandering through challenges to shine and be fine

Accumulating accurately the good inculcation to be better placed in society

Leaving all worries behind and moving forward as an indefatigable child from an African soil

Eleemosynary acts are installed in this great school of ours


Soaring higher is our motive

Empathy is our hallmark

Never giving up being our side dish

Interesting ideas we aim to create

Obliging challenges and defeating them hands down

Reciprocating the gesture of giving back greatly for the gift of life


Higher and higher we will go

Interesting characteristics we will show

Great stars we will grow

Here and there success glow

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


He captured my eyes

And ordered me to follow his every move

He held my tail with his gaze

Rendering me hopeless


Then his words became my bond

His wishes became my must

Then his ingratitude started wearing me off

His embarrassment in public made me a lesser being


Then I saw the light

In a similar being who wished to be my servant

He helped me outgrow the him who tortured me

Nothing is forever. 


I said I needed you not

I said you were not that hot

I said I wouldn’t you bought

Even if you were a golden pot


I said you were not important

I said I needed no accountant

I said you were just an infant

That needed to learn like the little ant


I said, like all men, you were corrupt

I said you had one aim, to disrupt

I said you wanted to make me bankrupt

And asked you not to interrupt


But you should have known better

And treated me better

Proving me wrong

Singing your heart and body out in a good song


Then I could have considered

Instead of haven receded.

We both lost, before we preceded

When I pessimistically conceded.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014






It gives hope

Only to stir more probe

It gives an authoritative voice

Only to give more respect and prestige

It gives you the power

To deflate egos of well structured beings

It blows good air

Only to bite deep until shameful blood oozes

When it suddenly abandons you

For your hardworking opponent

Papers that taunts

Papers with mouths

Papers with voices

And discriminates not against the good or the bad

Paper without sympathy

Paper whose name differs from tongue to tongue

But wields power

Sika for the Akan Ghanaian

Ega for the Ewe Ghanaian

Kudi for the Hausa Ghanaian

Money for the English

L’argent for the French

Ton in Hangul

You are really a strong contender

For the breather.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



Wearing attractive clothes and enticing beings


Acting coyly and planting its roots in watery anger


Embracing the heart and making it feel at home


Threading slowly and taking over the human


Showing its powers and eating away the human


Pushing the soul and killing the mind


All his character traits known too late

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



It was a slap

No, it was a hit

No it was a mock slap

No it was a slab hit

Her face was the surface

And her body was the ground

He hit it until she fainted

And what was the cause?

She did not cook on time

A woman is not mud

A woman is not without feelings of pain

A woman is not a born slave

A woman is not immune to sicknesses

A woman is human

She is human too Please treat her with care

And love

For though illiterate,

A woman is still a vessel

A vessel nature uses to bless humanity.

 Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



One cold Sunday in the month of November, my uncle Kwabena Boateng took me to school in his taxi. At the entrance of the school, was this huge board with a bold inscription:


MOTTO: Anoint, Accumulate, Serve”

In the middle of the script was the school emblem, which consisted an open Bible and what seemed like the peak of three mountains. I couldn’t look at it well because my uncle sped past it as quickly as he could. As soon as we alighted from the car, I had to carry my heavy chop box to the Senior House Mistress’ house with the help of some form three girls. My uncle waited until my things were out of his car and he vanished into thin air.

I was in house one and our colour was blue. My school mother was a house prefect but she wasn’t around so a form two student in house three was to take charge of me until she returned. I was led to my dormitory which was supposed to be my dwelling place for the year. The seniors asked me to carry my chop box for as long as they liked. So here I was in the middle in the middle of a cold room clothed quiet lightly and shivering like a leaf, being asked to carrying weight I could barely manage even with the help of two people. I stood there with no expression on my face, asking in my head; “What exactly do these people want from me?”

First senior: Hey December head, didn’t you hear us? We asked you to carry your chop box, oya do it now!

Me: Please senior, it is too heavy for me. I cannot even lift it let alone carry it on my head.

2nd senior: Really? Who are you calling senior? Are we boys? I am Sister Ruth, she is Sister Marian, and the one there is Sister Mary.

Sister Mary: Just leave the poor girl alone, she just came. She might be tired. Just help her lay her bed and sleep. You can do whatever you want to do to her tomorrow.

With that said, I was told that because I came, I couldn’t possibly get a bed. I was asked to lay my mattress on the floor and rest. I quickly obeyed. Before I could lie down, Sister Ruth ordered me to open my chop box. Sister Ruth, I reckoned was a very interesting character; she was shorter than me, very dark with a mouth that could be seen ten miles away. The thought that I was being intimidated by people four years younger than myself was just too much for me to bear, but I controlled my emotions, fuming internally and opened my chop box. My mother had given me some antibiotics because she feared I might not be able to bear the cold. They saw the medication, my gari, sugar, milo, nido, milk, and some shit and closed the chop box. Sister Mary asked if I were a sickle cell carrier, I said no. then one senior who had obviously come from prep said;

“Stop it o, these children, some of them are witches. She may not tell you her problems until you are standing in front of Kwaku Agyare.”





Ha ha ha 

Ha ha ha ha 

Ha ha ha ha ha

He looks awed

When he bragged about his sword

On the field of female farm plantation

Planting seeds and being pursued with good yield

Now he feels like snatching a citation

From a historic hero in a well loved drama land

To wipe his shameful slate of shame this farm land

His sword happened to be a stick parody of the original

Which can cut not into the softest grass

But only in his words

Ha, hahahaha, what a mess

If all women will guard their farms from all these pesty ones

And show them how strong they are in paying for better farmers

The world will be a better place.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.Image




There is a school of thought that states that it is in the interest of politicians to have education in their nations crumble to be on the safe side, because, the higher the level of illiteracy, the lower the criticisms of the government and the easier it is to win the mandate of the people. This is because people who are educated may not be easily fooled but the less educated ones only need gifts to be convinced. Being a Ghanaian, I do mostly believe that this school of thought is being greatly utilized by every government in power.

If not, how can you explain the many promises made by wanna be politicians pertaining to education and their lack of fulfillment when they ascend their thrones? I will not take you far, during the political campaign for election 2012, education was used as the highlight for the competition for the people’s mandate. The National Democratic Congress (NDC) under its symbolic umbrella promised to strengthen the educational system by making teachers comfortable, building more schools and providing schools with everything needed in order to provide quality education in Ghana. They even had their slogan Quality and not quantity in motion for a long time because the National Patriotic Party (NPP) under their symbolically huge elephant also promised the free secondary school for everyone. Most Ghanaians voted for the NDC because they thought NPP’s promise of free secondary school was too fake to be true.

After the election, he increased the salary of public workers by 10% only to increase utility bills by more than 100%. The other taxes that came to stay, I prefer not to mention. Schools that were under trees are still under the trees, if I decide to exaggerate a bit, I will say that those schools are under less shaded trees because expensive utility bills have forced many people to cut down branches of many trees instead of going to buy gas because they cannot afford to.

After two years of rule and no promise fulfilled, the smooth electrical supply has not been realized, if anything, it has increased compared to when that promise was made and the educational system is worse off with grumbling teachers who cannot afford to feed well so have less enthusiasm in teaching, you cannot blame them, it is very difficult to teach on an empty stomach, believe me, and so forth.

The final load that broke the camel’s back is the fact that the NDC government under its young leader President Mahama has turned into an optimistic church in chaos whose preacher seeks to gain more collection to salvage the rot that seeks to conquer the whole by promising the ‘unrealizables’. He promises anything and everything apart from what he promised in his 2012 manifesto. Now he has turned into an ideological thief who steals promises of fellow competitive party. We all know of his recent promises of providing free high school education. Let us not forget of the Northern scholarship which is in shambles and for which schools can close down for a whole month in order to force the government to provide some of the feeding grants.

Not that I think it is impossible, I know it is impossible and that no matter how much he tries to provide that form of education to ward off his competition, it will crumble to the ground in no time. I was glad when the government had a young president but with recent happenings I am regretting it greatly. Why? There are so many evidences of immaturity. How can you not finish your food in a food competition and stroll off to finish the food of your competition? What do you expect your fans to do and who do you expect your fans to root for in that food competition?

Is this a ploy to always contort our minds from following in the progress of schools in Ghana? By saying one thing and opting to do another? By promising better days for the educational sector and turning round to make it worse? Is our educational sector a pawn in the bait of politicians? If so, is it to intentionally worsen the educational sector so as to minimize the educational level of citizens who can put them on their toes and unmask their corrupt governance?

Left to me alone, education should be like the judiciary; independent and free from political interferences (though I know no institution can be completely free from political interference). But even if it is only on paper, it will help the electorates consider other factors of the promises to be made and vote wisely based on some other promises and not education. Education is the stronghold of every nation. It must not be made a draft played by mischievous people for their own benefits. Ghana is not meant for one individual, Ghana is not for one political party, Ghana is for all, let us vigilant and fight for the right causes.

        Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


She cuts the arms that feed her

Without thoughts.

She blindly stands by her stance

With bright eyes that blink not.

She walks away in her blind stupor

Feeling good about herself

And thinking male union or procreation is all there is to life.

Youngie kite

That wants to fly

Must be allowed by passers by.

So dear youngie, just try and fly

Without thoughts of any cry

For knowing not is nothing but bliss

I’m standing aside and letting you be.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


Little flower has been watered

Its infectious smile spreads across the earth

Awakening the sun from its slumber

Making the furious clouds jealous

And planning a coup.

My little flower smiles not

It looks pitifully sad as its yellow blooms tear in bits

Captured by the angry winds, clouds and rain,

I stand helpless seeing my little yellow flower

Standing at the center of the winds and crying,

Crying for help and looking into my face.

I can see the disappointment on its face.

I can see the mud covering its eyes,

And its feeling of betrayal as it sinks into the ground.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©2014.


It is straining

It is draining

This blessing of top-sitting

While looking into eyes whose main aim is soaring


It is straining

It is really draining

This sorry heaven of pouring rain and heart-sharing

While stretching forth and others preparing


A bowl full of hoping

A heart teaching yearning

A face of innocence crying

My heart zapping and bleeding


A little breathe breathing?

A little heart beating

In a decade and a half mortal while flying?

No, this is not amazing, it is degrading!


These eyes in my sockets are tearing

Seeing a fem-being in the wasting

While her male donor keeps scampering

In an unknown air of nowhere


I am that goal she is seeking

I am that light she is following

I am that hand she is holding

But what is all that when she is a bucket full of water?

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



They brought me into a den

Into a den of non-determinators


Who have the heart of a martyr,

Was brought into a bunch of give-uppers

And they tap into my ocean of determination

Every freaking hour of everyday.

They cause me to







And stop

Hampering my progress.

When will I reach the land of success?

When? When these weaklings form part of my heavy load?

The neck of my force is collapsing

And the back of my success is breaking.

Hope there exist a machete

Worthy of cutting these ties

Without seeing bleeding hearts

Wish there exist a shovel

Capable of burying these loads

Without seizing their breathes

My realization is what I do not want to bear;

My heavy shit of loads form part of me.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.




He pants and works

Angry faced

He shouts and works

Then the sun rises on his face

Loud laughter

That echo the mountains

Hardened palms

Which battles the land

Strong feet

That the land struggles to keep pace

Hardened bones

Strengthened by cooked plantain and grounded ‘kontomire’ leaves with palm oil

That is the most hardworking male ever

Mr. Kwabena Wiafe.



My boyfriend is a mechanic

A mechanic who can ride a car

He is a mechanic who can change gear

And ride even in curves

Did I mention he can also swerve?

And people are asking me why I love him


I love my boyfriend

Not because he is a mechanic,

Not because he is a driver,

Not because of his stylish swerving

Not because of his stylish walking

But because of his smile that melts my heart.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


Write my name in your heart

write my name not on your heart

Where strangers may see and wipe clean


Write my name in your mind

Write my name not on your mind

Where problems may delete


I yearn to be a part of your thoughts

Where my office will be static

Without any erotic discrimination


Then our future will be written

And our union will be fitting

In the clothes of togetherness.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


“We sing along

The damned doomy song

We’ve suffered for long

Trying to belong


We cry for our souls

Trying to identify the mole

And tie him to the pole

Under the hot coal


Living for nothing is naught

Our happiness in life has been bought

As we try to find a way not to be sought

Out of the millions who fear to be caught


We do this for sustenance

We do this for survival

Bad or worse, accommodate us

As big flies must be caught before small ones”


Stop the defensiveness

Try positive pro-activeness

Sing not of doom

Fight for success’ bloom

Bigger flies covereth up

Small flies disturbs by flaunting around

So try and come out of that obscured nest

And be an incorruptible big fly.

              Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014. 





You are feeding a future rot,

Feeding earth’s shitty maggots

You’re feeding a future rot

Which will cook in the happy earth’s pot

You are dressing the future vulture bones

Which will earthly filth doone

You are polishing a future fertilizer

Which will never leave any traits of sanitizers

You are the future earth

Which can never care about neatness

So behave as such

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


He sits under the golden tree

On the biggest of the silver stools

Breathing wealth and sending free

The money fools


He walks only under the golden umbrella

Held by the stoogy jesters

Spewing words that even he doesn’t believe but people deem filla

He promises with such gestures


Manly man of youthful blood

Who has strength but is blind

Pointing sticks where needles thread

And pushing hard, where walls are caked


The people cry

And he shouts his ‘try’

But stands apace

And run a race


Hunger seeps

As his worthy lions graze citizens heads

His blindness peeps

Only the ingratitude of his subjects


Life is foul

Get up, sit up,

Take out your blindfold

And lead the way.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.




Throughout this heated debate of legalizing marijuana, I have kept my cool and have thought deeply about this issue. I have asked myself over and over again the reason why such an issue will crop up in the first place. Smoking is smoking, and even those who make money off smoking have cautioned against its usage. Cigarettes which are milder than marijuana are considered harmful to the health of human beings. We all know the harmful effects of smoking and are not new to the many sicknesses that hold hands with smoking so talks of legalizing such a practice, I consider as preposterous.


I consider legalizing marijuana which many call ‘wee’ not because of the elderly who smoke it but because of the youth who are our future bedrock. In the first place, if marijuana is legalized, those who want to live very healthy lives will have no choice other than being second smokers which has a higher risk than first smokers. Yes, they will be forced to inhale the harmful smoke from lungs of heavy smokers coupled with its intended sicknesses. at the end of the day, people will have cancer, lungs diseases etc through no fault of theirs. What will become of this society when citizens’ rights are abused because of this particular practice?

Though the gospel according to marijuana smokers has it that smoking marijuana is good for humans, we all know the lives led by many smokers. Mostly, marijuana smokers live in questionable places where sane people may not be permitted passage at odd times. There is a passage from TAMASCO to T. POLY here in the education ridge in the Tamale in the northern region where these smokers converge, and there are appalling stories told by victims of circumstances. Many rape cases, theft cases and physical abuse cases are told of that place. Occasionally, military men raid the place causing them to flee for a while only to resurface when the weeds grow, hiding in there and causing many wrongs.

There is also the psychological effect associated to the smoking of marijuana. Many people become mad as a result of smoking marijuana.  It is a fact that people smoke the weed and go bonkers. They call it ‘being high’. I have personally witnessed one who smoked and came out of his hiding place completely mad and had to be sent to the psychiatric hospital in Accra. That aside, the fact that some go mad smoking it can render many weak hearted individuals mad after smoking it under peer pressure.

The cost of living in recent times is very high and many complain, blaming themselves, the government or attributing their woes to the global crisis. What will happen if people must add the cost of marijuana to their livelihood or if their children add that cost to their already miserable budget. What do you think will happen when people cannot afford their cost of living? Even now, some proud people choose death over their inability to cater for their families. So you can imagine what will happen when this unnecessary evil adds to their cost.

It is a fact that children and teenagers tend to abuse leniency. If we give them a yard, and they might take a mile. So what becomes of these children if they decide to abuse marijuana and end up in the den of madness? Obviously the mortality rate will be high. We will lose many prominent people in the society to this smoking.  

We know that marijuana can be useful for many medicinal purposes but we should not open the gates of its usage for abuse. There are many things that need our attention as a nation, legalizing marijuana must not be one.



The uncountable water sachets

Dirt from the many cafes

Empty bottles of drinks

Black polythenes holding hands, forming a gigantic wall that courageously blinks

Empty tins that threaten to maim look everywhere with determination

Papers marrying stenchy grime fly around being caressed by winds barring sterilization

Malodourous overcooked rice, banku, akpele and their colleagues merge

Fanning Singy-croaky- disturbing songs to undeserving ears through little insects

While creating their massacring lavender scarring noses with no respect

Stinking individually rounded defecations happily marry the wind and disturbs with no urge

They all become our neighbours and promise to oust us out of the surface of this earth

When we are their creators.

Let’s cut this staff to our size before it hits our pate

And sends us to our early graves.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.




I will give birth on a mat weaved with straw

Under the influence of eyes that are raw

I will give birth under the scrutiny of the sun

Where there are no stretched paws

But ready customary laws

That will prevent unseen hands from taking my baby and run


That love that is a bond

That I have shared and I’m fond

Will kill the soul of this heart that is weak

So I’ll not be close to a pond

Where calling may be difficult to respond

And watchful eyes will turn meek



A gift this big

Must not be left to an unknown pig

Who may struggle in the pit she may dig

For my dear love under a big wig

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


Tears trickle

As emotions of fire sprinkle

And a batch of hate giggle

As the kingdom of poverty heckle

They cry out loud when hunger their stomachs tackle

None dances, they just wince as this is not a normal cycle


I could cut my hands

If human meat could pacify the lands

I would be food for the hungry lands

If it could assure me that he would feed those, and by it stand

Ugly band

That forces men to dance


My eyes are flooded

My shoulders heavy stony-padded

My heart is panic stricken and sympathy cladded

But thirst rushes and himself added

To the woes of these bony handed

Little angels of unfortunate arrivals who are heavy hearted

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.





Every ethnic group has its negative or positive connotation in Ghana. Actually, these bad connotations were obtained in the olden days. Almost all these bad associations have waned with education. Because we are now open minded, we know all these are trivial. So here we go.

 The Akwapems of Ghana were positively known for being very respectful. So respectful that they sometimes seek permission and apologize before insulting. So they can say:

   “Mr. Ofori, please bear with me, I am sorry but I have to say that you are a fool”

That is how far their respect can go.

The Akans in general were known for their pride. The Asante’s were known for their bragging nature. Even if they lived in mud houses, they could say they live in mansions that have tiled compounds. They could brag to an extent that you may turn in your every life savings to them. 

The Akyems who are also Akans were known for their litigating nature. They would never let a small misunderstanding go. They would rather die than throw in the towel. They would sell everything they have to facilitate their litigation.

There is also the Kwahus where I come from who were also known for money rituals. They are also part of the Akan Kingdom. They were known to be rich people. They were known to kill their loved ones for money in order to stay wealthy. They were also known to be the most hard working.

There are also the Ewes from the Volta Region of Ghana who were also known to be very wicked. They were known for their interest in killing spiritually at the slightest provocation. They were feared because they were believed to easily kill spiritually when provoked or when they covet something. They were also associated with stealing. It was assumed that when you whole heartedly give something to them, they will never accept it, but if you leave, they will turn back and steal the very thing handed over to them on a silver platter.

The Gas of the Greater Accra Region were known for being misers and spending money to no end. They could rent their apartment out for money and stay on their tenant’s corridor. They were also known to be so uncouth and impolite because it was believed that they could insult people to no end.

The Fante’s were known to love meat, when I say love meat, they take too much meat. It was assumed that if you marry a Fante woman, she will use all the money you have to prepare meat filled soups and stews. They were also known for their wickedness in case one marries them and they die. It was believed the funeral rites were to outrageous that the widow or widower could be made to stay with the corpse or grounded pepper will be blown into their eyes.

The Northerners were also known to be very cantankerous, so much so that they will fight with their blood for inconsequential things. They did not value life. They could easily kill without remorse. They were also great farmers and sanitary workers.

The Ga Adagme’s were known for their many taboos especially when one commits a crime.

The Dziasekan group members were also believed to love fighting.

The Sisala’s were known to murder trees using them to burn charcoal. So it was believed that when you marry a Sisala man, you might never prosper in life, because there is no job security.

The Sefwi people are also known for also being ritualist. They are also known to have the worst luck in Ghana. It was believed that, when they greet you in the morning before you eat, you will be saddled with bad luck the whole day.

       Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.





The cock is too big for the small bottle

Making both noisemakers in their throttle

Children need to pass water

And grow positively hotter

They do not need their soft bowls cracked in their buds

Children who are fascinated by suds know nothing of body pleasures

They need to know no measures

They are just here as treasures

They crave for their mothers, fathers and playing

Let the flowers bloom to its full length

Let the chicks grow into boneful chickens

Curb your demonic cravings for deadly uncooked meals

Fly with strong wings

Encroach not on sites meant for the future

Many maids await pleasure at no fee

Be sensitive and save the future

By carrying discipline as a badge of honour

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)



When I came to Tamale in late 2010, I happen to have found everything in Tamale satisfactory except the chieftaincy battles and political tension that sometimes plague the land. Having the platform of the radio station I worked with then, I wrote a commentary on the appalling state of this matter of grave concern, and many people were angry after listening to me. Some wanted to even lay their hands on me and teach me to mind my own business. Some asked me

 “a ya bↄgnↄ” transliterating “Are you from this town?”

 I was lucky they knew the voice and not the person, I guess. Then it went down for a while and resurfaced during the election era in the form of tension and threats. Little did I know that it could take the shape of people associating misunderstandings and unfortunate incidents like people being shot to particular political groups and raising a hell of a fight in the process. It started like a rumour yesterday that a man was shot dead after he opened his door to see who was knocking on Sunday. Then by yesterday evening, there was chaos because some people claim some men were purported to have been physically abused, this led them into thinking it was a faction of a political party members who were behind the shootings and the said abuse. So they went to their homes and brought out their sophisticated arms rumored to have been given to them by political leaders, ready to battle. They caught a scapegoat whose only crime was walking in the enemy’s territory and brutally assaulted him with hands, nails and other weapons prolonging the guy’s painful transition into a corpse while people looked on because of the warning shots being fired around.

There is also a chieftaincy chaos in Bimbilla because a man whom a faction preferred as chief died. They wanted to bury him like a chief and the current chief’s supporters said no.  So they engage in chieftaincy dispute that gets out of hands and had to be placed on curfew.

What are the advantages of aggression, revenge, chaos? Why will political figures give arms to supporters instead of education or something that will impact on their lives positively if the rumour is true?

We must be our brothers’ keeper not our brothers’ foe. Let’s aim for development for our nation not political or chieftaincy wars. Love your neighbour as you will love yourself.


They stagger in life

Carousing in ignorance

And basking in complete commitment

Towards their stooge masters

They stand erect

Blinking not

Offering all their solidarity based on mouth promises of aspirators

They stagger in complete possession of political alcoholic inanity

And care not what they do in their stupor

Here is what I will say:

Come to real life

Come down from your massive head ovens and step on grounded earth

Then maybe, just maybe, you will see the clear truth

Written on the face of the sky

As the heat, whirling and dust settles.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


So a conversation cropped up with my colleagues on making choices for marriage. The man said that men now are interested in girls who are Junior High School dropouts or at most Senior High School ‘failers’. So I ask why? And he tells me highly educated ladies are too opinionated. They tend to say more than indigenous societies in Africa allow them to. According to him, men must be in control so many are not interested in losing that control to their women. I laughed. Why did I? Imagine you getting married to a school dropout who does nothing but sits in the house to obey your orders, humans are mere mortals, if you fall today in death, where will this uneducated house wife get the means to take care of the children you left behind?

An opinionated woman may be noisy, may be difficult to be around, may be bossy, may never be a puppet but look on the bright side. An educated lady can take care of the house and inspire her children to achieve higher feats. Imagine you give birth to all girls and their mother has no achievement where education is concerned, they may even be led into believing that a woman’s place is indeed in the kitchen.

Every woman like every human being has an ego and an opinion. Some may be harsh in sending their messages across, others might just be very calm in sending their messages across, others may not care to send any message across but will do what pleases them. We are humans. Looking for a relationship makes you a fisherman or a fisher-woman. It is patience that will help you get to the right waters where you can get bountiful yields.

Whatever it is that you want, it is up to you. No one must decide for you. Love an illiterate, love a literate, but weigh the options.


They came in the flood

They came ready to battle

They came knowing there were no in-betweens but death or life.

They swam in the ocean

They swam without fins

They swam knowing sharks were hunting for their feed

But their creator gave them no options.

The battle for dead eyes has been won

The fastest swerved the sharks

So let them triumph on the shores of grace

Let the bank of the shore  give them a huge smile

Let the water of the ocean quench their thirst

Let the bearers of the ocean look kindly on them

They are tired

Tired from all the battles

Tired from all the swimming

Into this unknown earthly land.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



The plantain plant is no different from the banana plant. They may have originated from different shoots but their purpose is equal; to feed. Motherhood or fatherhood must be regarded as such. Discriminating due to sources is unfair. So step mothers or step fathers must learn to deal with their step children fairly. I do not know the heart I have, but I cannot stand seeing children being molested even if the children in question happen to have parents who have done damage to me. My reason? The child knows not. Children just need to be loved. People do not know this but children pay for the love they get; in kind. Those smiles that you see, their touches, these are their ways of showing gratitude and opening their hearts to their care givers. I tell you this in all honesty; if you wrong a child, you have wronged God. Though the existence of God is still a myth, I believe  if there is a God, his sole reason is to watch over the helpless

which includes children.

One might ask why I am writing with so much emotion today, Simple; because women and men who are sometimes blessed with children and step children molest them. When I completed my university education and was sent to a village in Tamale called Dohani (in the northern region) I took a liking to a boy because of his performance in studies. For a month, I realized the boy was inactive and looked anemic. I watched as nothing was being done about it. I complained to the headmaster to let his parents know because he was from that village. Before I knew, he was not attending school with the excuse that he was not well. So I decided to visit him at home. Upon reaching the house, I saw him lying on a scattered straw mat almost lifeless with two women cooking close to where he was sleeping. I greeted and asked why the child was lying there that sick with no one bothering to take him to the hospital. The reply I got was that his mother run away from her matrimonial home to engage in prostitution. So the boy had been branded accursed.

Horrified and not satisfied with what I was being told and with communication being a barrier, I went for our headmaster and brought him to their house and demanded to see the head of the house. I was told then that he was a driver and had gone to work. I told them that I would take the child to the hospital, and afterwards, report the case to the police for neglecting the child. The men were shivering because they had probably not seen a woman who wielded so much confidence in speech. Within a few minutes, about seven men had gathered, all pleading with me. When they got to know that I was working in a radio station as well, they apologized and immediately sent the boy to the Teaching Hospital. I was told he received two pints of   blood just that day and stayed in the hospital for over three months. My questions then were what did that poor boy do to warrant such treatment? Was it his fault that his young mother had to run away from his polygamous father? Did he ask to be brought into this world? Why must his existence be tied to a degrading thought and bruised egos of family members?

I did not get those answers but I continue to hear of children being abused by their step parents and even sometimes their very own parents which is a very sad situation. I have an advice to potential child abusers; do not give birth if you intend to abuse your child. There are so many cheap contraceptives on the market. If you decide to bring a child into this world with thoughts of abusing that child, let the law not ‘catch’ you, those who marry and take over children from different marriages, please be careful and know that your step child may even take better care of you when you find yourself helpless. Remember our children are like the plantain and our step children are like the banana. Whereas we need to cook the plantain before it becomes edible, the banana is always ready to quench our hunger. I do know some step children are not easy to live with, but just think that you are living with your own children and treat them as you should, without unnecessary judgment and prejudice.



We ail
Just seeing the sufferings
We wail
Offering peace offerings
Our wings spread across all tails
Let us fly onto freedom and good change


Flowers of this dry garden

Women, the cold water for the thirsty earth being whipped by the scorching sun



Come into my temple

If you dare

Enter into this temple

And face me square

Gone are the days when this sex had ample

Shame for both for bodily pleasures of mere

Significance, this is simple.

Do it, and have no qualms of neglect

You came with vim

So the vim here must not unmake you

It’s pleasure that must be shared and forgotten

It is pleasure that will be in the spur of the moment

It is pleasure of the wind

So boldly walk into my temple

And be among my single congregation

And let the prayers of passion begin.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


Life is meaningless

The world is merciless

Thrashing hands that seek

Cutting their fingers and making them meek.

Work abounds for the idle in negativity

Caging bodies in confined abyss of dismay,

Abyss of urine,

Abyss of shit,

Abyss of dead sperms,

Abyss of cramps.

I looked beyond that attractive bag

Snatched by the old hag

Who gave me a nag

As to her feeding her younger lads.

I think of what my fate will be

If I hadn’t taken her place

In this stinking abyss of shame

An abyss that makes humans goats after visitation

As they are sacked just being seen around job arenas

If only truth will write itself on foreheads

Certainly, the puzzle of life will seize being a mystery.

These legs must be stretched

As I see my future of goose egg.


We sleep

Like sheep tired and satisfied after grazing

We keep

All annoyances and disappointments at bay without bracing

Only you can relieve this pain and keep us from dreamy weeps

Nursing our wounds and keeping us cool and refreshing for the morning

So in your bosom, do us keep

While your angels do our lives seep

This is our prayer.



I farm

I serve

I feed

Yet I’m nothing

But the sand under their feet


I starve

To feed

I pray

Leaving ambitions

Yet I’m nothing

But the sand under their feet


Beautiful woman

Fertile land

Digging trenches

In own womb

Yet I’m nothing

But the sand under their feet



Will this brightness be seen?



Can this stifling be curbed?


Do I do to breathe free?


Which god

Do I consult for freedom?



Do I go for victory?



Can’t I be celebrated?


I am the human god

Whose womb, like the fertile land

Fills the earth


I am the human mercy

Who will do anything to feed and watch over the land.


Please remove these shackles off my body

And let me stretch my wings

To give everyone cover.

       Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


As we mark Women’s Day what comes to your mind as a human who seeks to empower other women in Africa and beyond? I see us failing in many aspects of this long course to empowerment. Why? Many women in rural areas know nothing about self-worth not to mention self-empowerment that is why. If you are in the southern part of Ghana,(Where I was brought up) I mean in the cities, you will not realize the seriousness of this particular canker that is eating deep into the very fabric of our nation. Because the men there are empowered enough to have regard for their women; except in few instances when they want to show their masculinity. If you really want to see how some women are treated unfairly in this world, you might want to travel to the villages in the north and observe the shape of abuse of women’s rights and its appalling sightly scent.

Their opinions do not count, whatever you are, no matter how competent, your take on issues will only languish in your head and rot there. If you are disrespectful enough to air those views, you may be branded a witch and sent to a witch camp or be beaten to serve as a lesson to all your likes. That aside, where men are gathered, women must flee. They only surface when food and water are needed for entertainment purposes. In recent times. The only woman that may be entertained in a gathering of men is the very old lady who is regarded because of age and wisdom or the very rich woman who can grease their palms. In short, the women are the incubators, servants and possessions. (It sounds like a cliche that I keep mentioning this, I am not so much into we attaining equality than we being given the needed respect as humans) I do not mean to take this to a religious level but many men who cannot even afford to feed their very own selves, tend to marry three or four women, aside the many concubines using religion as the beautiful cover of this very sad and unfair story. By doing so, the women are left to fend for themselves and their children. I wonder though why they covet free spirited women like me who will not take their nonsense. I wonder how they can even degenerate into a servant level just to engage in a conversation with a “southern witch” like me. (I presume the southern witches appeal more than the northern witches)

Women who have never been taught how to do anything apart from helping in the house and on the farm must now till the land and sweat with babies strapped on their backs under the very scorching sun. The very lucky women are those whose people help them learn either hairdressing or the dressmaking. How much will such a person get at the end of the month to help her take care of her irresponsible husband, many children and in some instances, siblings, cousins and nephews?

What puts so much angst in me is they subduing girls, stifling their talents, thrashing their self-worth by telling them they are nothing but possessions of men unknown or in some cases known old men. That trade banter where fathers owe their peers so much and tend to use their unborn children or day old children to pay still persists. How unfair these girls are being treated! No wonder they spare no chance in migrating to the south even if it is to indulge in prostitution or porting. What did these young women do to warrant the wrath of the African land?

Many a times, being a teacher in the best and biggest secondary school in the north, I see many things, hear many things that cause me to weep in my room. The tears that flow mostly are not for me, but for those whose lives I can do nothing about. Those I see in my school I tend to try to empower. And I have realized that telling girls they are pretty, they matter, they can be so much more if they only get some confidence and allowing them to express themselves in ways they want to, go a long way to right their wrong minds. I as a teacher will never stand idle as male students tell my females to sweep because they are girls. Never! If you ask my students, they will tell you that she makes the boys sweep with the girls. That duty roaster must always be mixed. Where the boys are proving stubborn, I make them sweep alone. I nurture the confidence of these young ones in everything I do. I will never let them be given special treatments for being girls, I have realized that that is the very reason they are treated like they have no brains most times. Whereas the boys must respect the girls, the girls too must respect the boys and themselves.

I find it very degrading and offensive when our mothers continue to put bad ideas in the heads of our girls. Sayings like “sԑ ↄbaa tↄ tuo a, ԑtwere bԑԑma bo” transliterating if a woman buys a gun, it is strapped on the chest of a man in the Akan parlance is too outmoded to be used in modern times. While travelling with some of my students last week, our vehicle got stuck in Techiman and we had to get down to allow the fitters work on it. Where we happen to rest, an elderly woman came there praising my girls and giving them what she thought were blessings.

“You have done well; girls who go to school are blessings. God will bless you so that when you grow up you will become wives of presidents, ministers, accantants and all the important men in the world”

The naïve children responded “Amen” Then I said, no madam, these girls you see here will be the accountants, the ministers, and all the important people in the world, and so will the boys. Their lives will not be dependent on men. I refuse that they will tag along men and be nothing but wives. I thought about this and I am still thinking about this, with such mentality, how do we build the confidence of girls to strive for the best?

A girl is a future woman. A girl can be the future woman who can have it all; a good job, and a loving family. A girl is the future woman who must bring up her children and have a say in their affairs. A girl today is the brightest future, the moon of the future (The moon which must brighten the sad angry darkness and pave way for the sun) while the boy is the sun shining in the already bright day. I am doing my bid to help in empowering women I come across, I cut some chains of subduction of girls enhancing them to spread their wings and fly. What are you doing in empowering the gender that is the very foundation of men?



I am a vessel

I am that breakable but naturally mendable vessel

That quenches the thirst of humanity

I am the eagle

I am that strong eagle

Which flies miles on end in order to feed her home

I am a diamond

I am a diamond draped in rags

I am stepped on, spat on, placed on heat yet nothing changes

Until that patient one finds me and hits the jackpot

I am none other but the woman

That selfless being that gives room to human kind

The gateway of beings yet unborn

The wise one who mends her broken soul over and over again with love

That being that gives and gives without expecting anything

Treat me gently

Treat me as you want to be treated

How can you shut the door that out-doored you into the light?

How can you sit idle while riff- raffs throw sticks and dirt into the warm room that housed you for nine moons?

How can you look down on the brains that protected you throughout your sleep into mother earth

A woman is a woman

That man that took the woe for you

That man that will woo for you even in your failure

That womb that sympathizes with nature

I am that woman

So give me the light.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



Every hen must hatch

They must onto their fertility latch

If their desire is to live long

And freely be strong.

Every cock must crow

No matter their blow

The poor hencoop is tired of the increasing roosters

And it cripples without notice of its welfare

The hungry hens think of their young ones

The crippled hencoop thinks of its welfare

The angry cocks think of their stomachs and loins

While the forever hungry earth opens its mouth

For consumption of inhabitants who fail the life test

The land feels no remorse

Because it still grieves for its fertile parts being blinded with concrete

So it takes whatever is given to it

And does not bother to give anything in return

It laughs and laughs while the gate of its mouth opens

For the fluids of the hens, cocks and chickens to quench its thirst

While their lifeless bodies sustain this dry earth.

                     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.




I  want to have sex

I want to have sex like my ex

I want to have sex that stands

In order to possess power throughout the lands

I need to have sex as erected as the Kilimanjaro mountain

This will give me power which will help my sanity maintain

This flat earth puts me in awkwardness in many places on this black land

My dignity and self worth have been mixed with the sand

Because of my lack of erected pillar in the middle of this clay

I am at this sick bay

Wishing for the unattainable

As this heart yearns and contains

The wishes of the erected mountains that stand urging to be climbed.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


It’s been 57 strong years

57 years of downs and downs

Ha, Ghana must be a hell of a woman

Still standing after being wobbled,


Searched and robbed,

Slapped and teased,

Nursed dry,

Stripped naked,

With sand thrown on her cushioned hair and into her bright eyes

Ridden like a horse under bad to worse riders

Who seek nothing but their destinations

Cradled and smiled at only when her hair needs to be pulled

By her very own of whom I am a part

Mother Ghana;

You truly are a mother.

A mother whose complexion can never be bought with wealth

You’ve borne and still continue to bear the rains and the hot sunshine

While your children play in your belly with weapons that do not favour you.

You still cover the pierced parts with your hurt hands to keep us safe

I know the voices of your good children reach no where

But like the prayerful mother hated by her children

Pray for us

Pray for change

Pray for you

Someday, someday we will get together

After convincing ourselves of your worth,

We will adorn you with medals of love

Of self sufficiency

Of gratefulness for your resemblance

Of dignity

And of the willpower to hail you so high for the whole world to see

Long live Africa!

Long live West Africa!!

Long live mother Ghana!!!

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.




I am bamboozled

Strapped in visions of the unfathomable

Cajoled by frightened hummings of the wind

Clothed by awareness of magnifying nakedness of grave hoodwinking

Of not only myself but the world


I am angry

Angry by the tone of my voice

Exhausted and fatigued by the stench of unscrupulous stinking teeth

In the mouth of the world

Yet it seems I can do nothing

But hypocritically watch the stray chickens dance in the plates of the crowd of foxes


Where is liberty?

Where are truth and honesty?

Where is discipline?

Where is conscience?

Which bastard of spirit changes the innocent with power?

Which bastard Soils seats of freedom by entrenching corruption and beautifying embezzlement?

This throne of graceless grace

This throne of soft weakness

This throne of the executioners

Needs deliverance from God

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


I am a flower

I am a beautiful flower

A black flower with brown eyes

A black flower with red blood

God really has the coolest creativity ever


Now those are some flowers

Those are some white flowers

White flowers with blue eyes

Oh, some with brown, green, yellow and black eyes

Ouch! They have red blood flowing in their veins

The old man above has some coolest creative styles ever


What now?

The white and black flowers refusing co-habitation?

When they have similar features but for their colours? 

When they all need the land to grow beautifully?

When they need equal sunlight and rain to flourish?

When their maker is all for harmony?

The old man above must be regretting for being dynamic

He must be in His own world googling ‘the need for creativity’.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


We all fall down,

And we rise.


We all fall down,

At one point or the other.


We all fall down,

So be sympathetic.


We all fall down,

It forms part of the fallibility of man.


Mortals have the genes of falling,

So instead of the accusing tone,

Extend your hands

And help in the lifting,

So you will have more hands willing to help you up

When you fall down

Falling is a must

For without falling, there is no breakthrough.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


I am standing in the mud

Stretching in a huge world like a little bud

As the rains of uncertainty stone me cold

Yet this heart will not fold

I, like the rest of the women fold fantasizes

About the knight who sweeps women off their feet

But this same heart has nightmarish daydreaming of possible cracks that might turn suicidal.

I am standing in this torrential rain on my bare feet

Wanting to change the world in my own small way

Even if it is to give a smile

Yet my world is a massive chaotic cave

Filled with fear, hurt, pain, struggle, need and yearning

What am I to do?

A fearsome creature lurks in the corner of my heart’s brain

Thinking always aloud about the possible failures to be encountered

How can I neglect that when it talks into a loud microphone?

I yearn to school and train my brain to be among the learned and the most feared

But the world will not make it easy

The people will not make it easy

And I will not make it easy

Because my heart flutters and stutters just thinking about inconsequential things

It crashes and dies a hundred times in a day without warning

A tear from a young eye and it crashes and dies

An illness that scars and it crashes and dies

A natural disaster and it crashes and dies

A painful word and it crashes and dies

A sorrowful story and it crashes and dies

A wishful thought that is an obvious myth and it dies a hundred fold

So here I stand, in this pouring mud

Just like a little bud lost in its new home

Pouring out my soul to the listening wind

Screaming out my lungs and getting lost in my uncertainties and fears which may never rear its head

I am drenched out of hope

Slapped by sorrow

Still I wish hope which stares will hold my hand and run with me

Before I drown in a mud filled with shit.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.