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Jehovah is my witness

He is my witness

That I do carry the right messages

But many want none of it

None, none at all


He is my witness; Jehovah

I went to Papa Ofosu’s house

Immediately he saw me,

He rushed into his neigbour’s bathroom like a lost cat

And asked him to tell me he is not in

When he knew I saw him

And could probably have heard him


I went to Shaidu’s house

And he brought out a machete

How my heart pounded!

Jehovah curses those who touch his prophets

But I needed to live to spread the word

So like a speed mortalised, I fled

Jehovah is my witness


Just look at Akosua

Girl as pretty as the rainbow

She is so lost and I had pity on her soul

I went to knock to give her the word

And she changed her voice ridiculously

And told me “please she has vacated this premises”

When I saw her the next day

On my way to work

Jehovah! Jehovah!


Just look at Mrs. Pabi

The woman’s house is far from mine

So I reach her for discussions when she is mostly cooking

Her nosy little brat of a child

Told me I was just a nosy and hungry old preacher

When I complained, she said her child had a point

What did she think I was?

A glutton looking for free meals?

Jehovah Jireh!


Teenagers kill me most

They flee like I am some sort of “kakai”

When they see me, while laughing

Their faces saying;

“Catch us if you can! You old nag!

I get irritated, but not for long

Jehovah cries, I know


Many are those who meet their deaths

Many are those who get injured

Fleeing from me and my family

But Jehovah is my witness

Jehovah is my witness

That I am spreading the word

And I feel very bad when others die without hearing the word

Shoes are buyable

And I won’t care even if my soles wane

I will continue my work as Jehovah’s witness

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



A man stood at the podium

Calling himself “the fire man”

Shouting blessings

Shouting cursings

Until the trial moment came


A child of eight, run to the temple

Panting in a frenzy

Shouting in fear

Of the unimaginable

So the audience asked

“What at all is it?”


Like a Satanic messenger

He unfolded his tongue

“Ei, a man is lying in a pool of blood

Outside the church

With huge blisters all over his body

Judging from his symptoms

A doctor run wild

Saying it is ebola!”


Before the members could sink it in

The podium fell

The fireman fell, stood, shouted and fled

The elders followed

The audience then knew

That standing by the podium

Was a mere water shell

If it had been washed in-shore

Then they too must flee

And so it happened

That the fireman ended up selling dog-chains

By the roadside,

None of his former followers patronising

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



The sky must be female
Goes through all cycles
It can pick a thunder seed
And let the world hear of its delivery

It can get pregnant
With clouds, the sky,
And make sure the earth is soaked like a  cotton cloth
Sometimes hoarding triplets by adding thunder and lightning

It picks seed of the sun
And delivers heat so unbearable
Making many seek
Coolers unseen
The sky is a woman

Of course, it is a woman
It’s mood swings are unbearable
But it holds the power of light and darkness
And hides behind its children
To bless and curse
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Ride in stride

The donkey beneath

Ride in stride

Thinking not of a drop in trot

Whip and equip

Its ego to grow

Like a giant hiding a killer punch

It will hide its ears and throw you down

You’ll be grateful if you end up down town

With broken bones and aches holding a metal whip

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

(Inspired by a good friend called Mr. Hudu)



Until you decide,
I will wait like a fallen priestess
Praying and hoping for
You to get me out of this dilemma
And help me choose my path
On this crossroad

Until you decide
I will keep my toffee wrapped
Keeping you in suspense
Whipping up your curiosity
On what you could have had
Until you choose
And help me choose a path
On this crossroad

Until you decide
Tongues can wag about my loss
But I will still keep up hope
For the choice must walk
Through your mouth
In order to open my cage of indecision
So I wait, until you decide
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



I know you are a good enemy football player

But trust me, your most skilful dribbling,

Make them more than C. Ronaldo’s,

Will be my healthy trainings

Your trials at long shots

Will always go to the corner

Or like an overfed eagle’s shot,

You will send them flying in the heavenly air

Your headings will only give you headaches

As they will always go over my bar

You might win some free kicks

But will end up giving me a goal kick in your confusion

Your throw-ins will mostly taste your foot

And make you cause unpardonable fouls

Incurring the displeasure of your coaches and mates

Wait, you might win some penalties

But your own trainings will make me catch them with ease

Making me win the Golden Hands

Ahhh ah! Your ultimate goal of scoring a golden goal

Will at most bounce to kick you in the face

For you are only a player

Even with strength of others

I will always be the winner

Because I am my 11 month squad

And God is my coach

Even in my hurt zone

He will send a whirlwind to blind you

The anger of it will always make you assault the referee

Giving you a red card

So you try playing me

Play me a few times and risk losing your career

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



What if I told you
I met you even before
Your head thought of a loving union?

You were like an angel
High up in the sky
Looking down at me
As I looked up adorably

You had many around
And were confused for a moment
But a second look at me
And you were mine to keep

You cleaned my wings
Massaged it and trained me to fly
While you led the road
In apt protectiveness

See, it’s deja vu
I saw the shores of our sea
Before you appeared
Yes, I knew you before
Way before you came
I just never thought
You would come in a complication
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



We are like wick
Dressed in wax
We are like stick
Which fire needs to fax

We are like gas
Bottled in use
We are like a working  bus
Bombed-set in fuse

We think time’s heels wane
We are that insane
Time builds strength with age
While we exit the stage
Amoafowaa Sefa Sefa (c) 2015



Who has seen a drunk
Craving for a drink
Amidst pots of liquor
With no owners
And still sees none
Even in his sanity?

I am now like the drunk
One who lives in words
And has dined with most
Seeking some great words
Just to express mood
Of an surreal feeling
By one who continues to bless
None is seen
Although they all stare
With their hands raised
I am only able to say
Thank you for the great father you are
I feel your cushion
And it really is saving my back
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Could you be just name and fame?

Could your spirit be all fake and lame?

Why will you and your sons

Replace your taste form slaves to leopards?

Did you not know what leopards were

Did you not know leopards never give their paws freely?

Or did you plan a huge royal massacre?

Were the seers not able to see properly?

Could it be the communicators wanted a royal ridicule?

And supposing you were “tafrakye” drunk

Couldn’t the priesthood have hinted you in your sanity?

Who would atone for the slayed slaves of unfortunacy?

Penkye Otu, are you just a god who incites to kill?

Could you be all paint and weapons?


A god, a god you are said to be

A god who raises questions

Could it be you are what many fear to say?


Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015






Fill the belly of every second
Please make them full
So they can see the strength end
Of their minutes
And ultimately have them pulled

Light the fire of every minute
Training in work to have them wake
And like the ant cherishing the minute
They will smoke  out your hour

Whip up your hours
And let them yours
And like a great horse
It will take you to day

Train your day like a boxer trains for stamina
Pains mostly gain
And like a good student
It will fly you to month

Fly your months in wings unbreakable
And it will carry you to the safe arms of year
A repeat of your passion
In same order
Is what you need to retain your love
For life is like a woman
Love her passionately
And she’ll be yours forever
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



I need
I need
I need me a one
With no hawk’s eye for talent

I need
I need
I need me that one
Who will look into my soul

I need
I need
I need me a one
Who can erase all my sadness

I need
I need
I need to throw away capacity
And dance around to pull my witness

God grant me the need
One who will see this heart’s light
God grant me a one
Who has read not from my thoughts or lots
God grant me this need
So I can be special
Really special to one who will see me as me
No extraordinariness
Just the little cute me
And will grant me space to jump around
Kiss the earth
Shout into the sky
To keep my soul neat
And save this soul
From acting mouse to the hunt of many cats
Who seek in me a trophy
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Now I can sing my song
Because the sky has finished washing its face
And sun’s coming footprints
Have been licked by time

Now I can sing my song
Because the sun sits comfortably
On its throne
Facing and brightening its lively audience

Now, I can sing my song
Decorum has gone to fetch some food
Leaving the laissez faire lust in seat

Now I can sing my song
Because even the clouds
Are at their humour best
And thunders are taking a rest

Limping lushes
Lay me bare on hot ice
Give me a mattress of hot ties
Keeping me warm with lighting fingers
I will make sure we shower afterwards
In the Jacuzzi of love
Amoafowaa Sefa Amoafowaa (c) 2015



In Tamale,
They cry like humans
Never leaving traces
Of they being ons all fours

Their children can imitate babies
With their shrills which give chills
Leaving no trace
That they are on all fours

The Billies have their bass
Croaking like a high commander on heat
No traces at all
That they are on all fours

Oh the nannies
Their lamentations surpass that which the Bible keeps
Singing amidst dancing
Hopping amidst running
Leaving no trace
That they have fore and hind legs
Deceiving beings into opening doors
Only to find out
They are goats
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Going in grand style?
Smiling to make me wild?
Please be patient
And listen to what you’ll be missing

If you are my sky
You successor will be my heaven
Yes, my everlasting heaven
Making him your boss
Can you carry that cross?

If I give you pleasure
I would certainly take him to Mount Everest of ecstacies
Taking him from horses
And cozy him in a colourful golden chariot

Oh I was always in your shadow
But I will be his smily bright sun
Pulling out his wings as my light leads his way
In a gargantuan holy fame

If kisses can immortalise
I will make him immortal
Always fortifying his longings
With tender lovings beyond human comprehension

He wouldn’t need to ask
I would pluck for him the moon
He wouldn’t need to ask
I’ll give him all his needed stars
He wouldn’t need no masseuse
I will draw in heavenly fingers
Keeping him in constant fitness
Imagine his gratitude
And bountiful gladness for me in returning the favour
I bet my feet may never trip on any hurt stone
Now, king of leaving,  please do leave
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Yesterday, a very good friend of mine; Sylvanus Bedzrah, nominated me to tell the world what makes me a Ghanaian. Well, I’ve thought it through and these are the things.
1. My name is Abena Amoafowaa Tawia Mansah Sefa Cecilia; Abena, a name I gained after touching the Ghanaian ground on a day ordained by God in birth. Amoafowaa, my box cum part of my surname, a name my late grandmother used to stand on three legs to mention with its appellations: Nana Amoafowaa Jemremedua! Princess of Nana Yaw Adjare of Ekona Clan. No knife must touch you lest it breaks bones of the holder, no harm must come to you, lest the harmer risk his or her family’s extinction. You are the old wise one reincarnated! You will live long!!! (Smiling at this point). Tawia, a name I earned by the sole reason that I was born after twins, Sefa; the other part of my surname. Mansah, another name earned because I am the third of females born continuously without a male. I make the “Cecilia” my last name because it was borrowed. I could legally remove it but I loved and still love the one who added that name to my list of names, plus, she is late so it is more like a deed of hers I want to live with. Legally, I am known as Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia. This is one thing that makes me a Ghanaian.

2. My palate knows grasses and weeds and alien vegetables and also knows indigenous foods like tuo zaafi, banku and okro, ampesi and “potogum hwei gum” but to mention a few. The lands produce good food and I love eating them in style, it is easy to find others calling me names like “a villager” and the rest, what sort of tag is that? Every body comes from a village, please the good food and demonstration of me eating it always, makes me a Ghanaian.

3. We can bicker like old maids, insult politicians who are accomplished as though they are slaves, hail stars and bring them down (not proud of), but many extend their hands when someone is genuinely in need. Family are sacred entities. By the end of the month, money attracts dead relatives who spring up from nowhere, but when help is needed, all hands (sometimes a few anomalies) are on deck, they are always there to show their support and love. Me giving most and receiving no cash but much love; pure or otherwise, makes me a true Ghanaian.

4. I can watch a local parody of Lil Wayne on Ghanaian screens and laugh at the laughing stock that is associated with the original. No tattoos on this one but the face, mannerisms and gestures tell tales of freedom and humour which gladdens my world. The laughter of life which echoes from me and can travel to others in an infectious manner, makes me a Ghanaian. The elephants can battle the umbrellas on the field of politics all they want, but never see the shoes of wars. Even comedians are among political aspirants allowing electorates some comic relief, my pride in most things we do making life interesting makes me a Ghanaian.

5. Whatever you teach me, I can do it to an extreme (on the good side though). So teach me to fly with wings of a hen and I will make sure I get that of an eagle. Hard work earns me the name “witch”, typical Ghanaian show of successful African women.
Kwaku Atta can date 6 women together, he can only be called Kwaku Attah the he-goat. Let me defend one of his women who has two men, and I get to be called defender of prostitutes; melody to my ears. A woman from another planet may choose to go to court for this, as for me, I know this makes me me and shows I am doing well because I am a typical Ghanaian.

6. I know no snow because the sun mostly dances in my Ghanaian sky, sometimes goes overboard, but what do I care? I get to live, feeling its massages on light clothes. I don’t need to live in hundred clothes a day. Snow can never restrict my movement. Just sponsor a trip with me inclusive abroad and you will know by my shrivelled cries that I am a true Ghanaian.

7. Celebration of excellence is the Ghanaian way. Fail and no one knows you. Be around me where writing is concerned and you will hear, “oh her? I know that girl, she is a very close friend of mine”, go abroad and let someone mention my name and you will hear one who has never seen me say; “Oh! That is my sister” That is just by the way. Everyone we respect and love has a “brother” or “sister” attached to his or her name.  Yes, sisterhood and brotherhood, that makes me a Ghanaian, so if I call you Sister Sylvia or Brother Maxwell, know it is a Ghanaian thing of love and respect..

8. So I love taking “trotro” because talking about love, life, politics makes life worthy of living. It is easier to get the biography of an unknown person or know all about the antagonist of another’s life without asking questions. People talk to people freely, known and unknown. So see me talking to someone I just met on “trotro” or in a taxi and laughing my heart out, there is no doubt that I am a Ghanaian.

9. I am a manager by default. The cost of my food alone can be 1000 cedis, school fees, hospital bills, transport cost etc not inclusive while my take home is less than 1000 cedis. Trust me, I can live through the month in perfect stride, don’t mind my “sign dan ho”, my managerial skills makes me a true Ghanaian.

10. I love the natural sights of the Kwahu Mountain, the beautiful Damongo Game Reserves, the intriguing Monkey Sanctuary, the many beautiful waterfalls, the legendary temples but to mention a few. The beauty of nature in Ghana reflects my being, ask me about the realisation of most of these serene places and I will tell you about the many hunters or farmers who chanced upon them. Trust me, that makes me a true Ghanaian.

There are many more I may share in future life if God permits. For now, I choose Nana Awere Damoah and Namerl Tagoe to tell the world ten things which make them Ghanaians.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Life pulls pain from one
And turns it laughter for another
Abena, I can’t comprehend its genesis
Let alone find its revelations

Dawn cries
And plants and most living things flourish
I can’t take out sky weepings
Because rain gives more life than take
Strange, this side of life

Animals cry being murdered
But like monsters never knowing sympathy
We think of delicacies and slash their throats
Or trap them
Until painfully,  their lives develop heels
Strange, this side of life

Machetes and machines
Are placed on necks of trees
And are slashed
No matter the fearful tree noises
But who cares?
Its leaves, barks or roots may be another’s life
Or its grounds, another’s sleeping place
Strange,  this side of life

Air always suffers
Being killed and reincarnated like glows of fireflies
Only to ease and carress breath and chlorophyll
Strange, this side of life
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



I say he has changed

And will always remain so”

The elders say

Only the child sees the eyes of the crab

As a stick, 

Look at Selina now

She too told me

She was the wind of change in his life

When his pleasures waned

She said she was blinded

By Cupid’s thick hands

So I will tell you this:

Climb from the whimsy stairs of fantasy

Beauty and the Beast lived and have always lived in myths

Stroking and kissing a monster

Will never make it a human being

It can only be subdued for a moment

Because of the sensation

And zoom back to nomalcy

When it gets familiar with the feeling

Trust me, it can tear you to pieces

Knowing it can easily get others

To fill your vacuum

If a word to the wise is enough

Then these words are even longer to a fool

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



When the storms roar
And the rains set in
You will hear the vultures say
“After the rains, we’ll build our huts”

When the rains do wane
And the sky smiles
You’ll hear the vultures say
“We need no structure
To tame our wings
The best is flying without opening gates”

We are like vultures
Aren’t we?

Dressed in doomy black

With white mufflers
Always mourning disasters
Don’t we?
And giving sluggishness a duster
To dust horribles when time’s sound travels a mile
Don’t we?
Appalling, our artificial fate
A bombing shame on our skinny brains
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


If you are mine
The seas of lust
Can swallow you
Like pythons swallow beings
But will vomit you at my doorstep
When the time is right

If you are mine
Alcohol and dope
Can hide your brains
And make me a stranger
In your high site
But will return it and make you find me
When the time is right

If you are mine
You can bleat like a goat
Deny me like Peter denied his Messiah
But your ego will fall
And run to me on fore and hind legs
When the time is right

If you are mine
Let the Twin Towers be grazed into sand
With you in it
Let India’s earthquake
Swallow you in earth’s belly
Let ebola arrest you in its shivery prison
You will be brought to my temple
When the time is right

If you are mine
There will be nothing to sign
Your heart will know mine as his
And will know its owner
When the time is right
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



It’s sad, those pushed to school

Are mostly those who learn to fool

Eventually acting as many a stool

And being used as many a tool


It’s sad, those who has heads

Make the many beds

For those who know no sheds

To hurt the gentle with many reds


It’s a horror

Which starts with a terror

I guess we all need a mirror

To quench this “tehorror”

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Horror can rain
Terror can maim
But time’s long legs
Never cease to run

Hearts can stop
Hurts can harm
But time’s long legs
Never cease to run

Shame can tame
Risks can shatter
But time’s long legs
Never cease to run

“Ko ko ko”
Oh “ka ka ka”
Time’s long legs
Will always run
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



I remember that day

When my seed took ill

In the waist of night

Left with no mobility,

You woke and became my weakened legs

And saw me to the healing centre

I had no eyes, but I really saw


I remember when Korle-bu called

And I was left at the cross-road of need

You came, with your envelope

Cushioning me, to take the step

I haven’t forgotten the fruits and vegetables

Neither have I forgotten the tubers and maize

Which dressed my store

Whenever your journeys brought you home

I had a heart, which really did feel


I have known many Ewes

But you stand supreme

Employing classes teachers for your cool cool kids

I have known many men

But you looked like a saint

Never able to open my fatherly heart 

But you gained my respect

I had a head and I really did think


I can still see you in my mind’s eye

Complimenting my kid for his cool cool dimples

Throwing him up

And catching his fall

It’s too bad that you had to leave soon

Good good beings never last long

I weep thinking of Gloria

I weep thing of your carbon copy

Sleep well Mr. Zando!

May God keep you in a conditioned office without pain

So you can be focused on you little ones

Who breath love for you

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Walk like a king
No matter what annoying bells ring
Because you are the sky
Which a great moon yearns to embrace

Walk like a god
No matter who gets bored
For you are that spirit
That a great priestess worships

Smiles must make your miles

All suns must create you tiles
All clouds must follow your lead
You are one, just the one
This priestess worships
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Pants of can’ts
Excuses in rants
Even firewood crave fire
Wanting to lead in light
Wanting to be a star bright
Although being in ashes is no delight
But you, like a firefly, tease with your faint glow
Saying this and saying that
On a day when emotions weep
For a play in your tower
Still, I have this to say

It’s not too late
It’s not yet eight
So I wait
For our date
In an anxious state
Eish! I can’t even touch my plate
Because I feel like a lost bait

Many are looking
Looking and begging
Begging for your slot
Willing to be slaves
In caves as dangerous as the hungry lions’ den
But your mouth is your announcer
Declaring sillies in my torture
I guess pushed by your hardened heart
Which I have long sought to have
But I still say

It’s not too late
It’s not yet eight
So I wait
For our date
In an anxious state
Eish! I can’t even touch my plate
Because I feel like a lost bait

I may be the strings on your guitar now
Play to your heart’s desire
I may be your foot mat now
Step with as much mud as you desire
The hells of my heart will wake
And I hope you run for peace sake
Because no matter what it’ll take
I’ll drown your thoughts in a stinking lake
For now

It’s not too late
It’s not yet eight
So I, like an innocent child, wait
For our date
In an anxious state
Eish! I can’t even touch my plate
Because I feel like a lost bait
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Throwers of filth
In the belly of drains
Builders of mansions
On the breathes of rains
Oh rears whose chamber pots are mouths of seas
Fie! Fie! Fie!
You live lives of lies
When your index fingers find others as offenders
Of drowning and ills
You need to know your pills

Carers of mandates of the cruel and corrupt
Collectors of monies for dangerous pregnancies
Oh connivers of all ills
You know your pills

You know your pills
So why cry your ills
If only you will see your bills
And pick them, you will stop your chills
So stop the unnecessary drills
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Me, I can’t share my man o

I am no hypocrite so I won’t lie

I met a terror called jealousy

When I saw a taken-cuddling meant for me

I never knew its claws really lived deep down my guts

When it decided to show

It was like a lioness tearing my soul

There I got to know

That I can never share my man

No matter how the world forces sharing down my throat


Who wants to lick a sweet toffee

With many tongues at the same time?

Even hands won’t let flies on a teasing wound

Why will I hide tears in blankets

Like a thing so undesired

While what is mine lies in the bosom of another?

Me, I won’t lie o

I am no hypocrite

I can never share my man!

And no one can make me!


If I live in faithfulness

Always scenting my temple in wakefulness

It will be a curse

If my heart weeps

While my head speaks of some religious rules

I will rather be let loose to search

Than hypocritically smile and hand over my treasure

Only nothings are shared with ease

So, know that I will never!

Oh can never share my man


Let she that feels not the fire

Of the burning painful flames so dire

Seeing hers in another arms

Throw a jab at my truth

I could care less how others choose to live

I know me

And I feel me

I will never be a hypocrite

Because I know that I can never!

Never share my man

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Dawn can’t begrudge the cock’s crow
It is its companion
It is its friend
It maybe its enemy
But it makes it a star
As some wake to see it
At the sound of a cock’s crow

Lawn cannot begrudge dawn
It owes it part of its colour
Like the bed of a princess
Its spread is thanks to dawn’s tears
Although it makes it overgrow and calls for a knife to slit some throats
Many are attracted by the help of dawn

We are mostly dawns or lawns
We need to notice all sides of the coin
We need to bow
When the stakes are low
Lest we take blows
For something which can kowtow
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


She is my carer
One who drummed my coupling
One who forced a joining
But like a stubborn child who learns
She begs that I stay me
Getting a one hoarder of life
With a sense of responsibility
Weeping her mistakes
As to how she came to couple

Which is which?
What is what?
Singling or coupling?
Fooling or mingling?
It is a life unfair
A living not clear
Companions in millions
Lonliness in zillions
Causing tears to form mighty seas
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Twisted tattered tingly things

Taunt in towering tormenting tests

Tempers tower in trending taps

A tactful treasure is needed to turn


Turn or burn

Taint or train

Tag or tailor

It takes a treasure to be traced in tests

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015 



Mouths in shouts
Releasing arrow words in sharps
Aiming at my being
Know that I am as swift as an eagle
And armoured like God’s soldier
So I keep going higher

Tongues like serpents
Hissing my biography
Wanting a slaughter
Of my name and fame to have me tamed
Don’t bother
My name is an unmeltable iron
No weapon can have it slaughtered
Save your strength
Because I keep going higher

You keep pushing me to drown
And God gives me a boat
You keep hating my guts
And success flies me like a kite
You keep shooting me to die
And God immunes me to your tries
Your every miss “zipples” to backfire
So save your strength
For I will always keep going higher
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Choices are like riddles of God

He sprinkles them and allows minds to discern

Yesterdays beget todays

Todays are mothers of tomorrows

And todays are us

Kwaku Ananse’s naughty decisions in Ghanaian folktales

Earned his generations “the cunning tags”

There is no one God for every being

If we are all God’s children

Then wisdom, like that of ants

Will give hints to right discernments

And like the Biblical Ruth,

No persuasion can steer your off your great destiny

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


I don’t know what to do
I am like a nail
With a magnetic force
Which uses all its strength to repel magnets
But I am now locked in a greater force

I don’t know what to do
He is everything I dislike:
Location, God-channels
And all
But I feel trapped
Like a mouse in a hungry cat’s corner

I just don’t know what to do
He can’t be bossed
Being the boss of the bosser
And I am just an ant
Heaven and earth
A giraffe cum peacock
Heaven and earth
Clouds and dust
Heaven and earth
North and east
Promise to embrace
Making sanity useless
And I strain
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

Beautiful, Intelligent and Creative; Meet Awura Abena Agyeman of Wear Ghana

  • Our guest post is a beautiful, very beautiful (no exaggeration) lady inside out. She is a fashion designer, a motivator, an inspiration, a Ghanaian patriot with a golden intelligent head on her head. She is one of the stars of Africa where innovation in creativity is concerned. She is none other than Awura Abena Agyeman.

    Awuraa Abena Agyeman on
    Awuraa Abena Agyeman on

    AMOAFOWAA: You’re welcome to

    AWURA: Thank you

    AMOAFOWAA: Please tell us about your family and growing up

    AWURA: I come from a large family filled with lots of love and support. I’ve got 8 siblings and a fantastic mum. If I had to choose the single most valuable asset I have aside God, it would be my family. They’re my anchor. I grew up as a silly chubby girl who could talk from here till forever and yet I managed to convince my teachers that I was the quietest person in each class I got to.

    AMOAFOWAA: Lol. So Wear Ghana. How did it come to be?

    Awuraa Abena Agyeman on
    Awuraa Abena Agyeman on

    AWURA: Well it started in so many little parts.. A promise to a friend to make him a shirt after he had ordered me some sewing books… a project with my brother to find a way to revive the clothing and textiles industry … a conversation with two of my brothers with one of them suggesting the name WEAR Ghana for an event … my sister going out to tell a neighbour I was a fashion designer after the neighbour had shown interest in an outfit I had designed for her (my sister)… to having my best friend of so many years, Angorkor Nai-Kwade partner me. Looking back I realise these were just sign posts leading me to my calling. But all in all it really happened when I realised I had landed a promotion at work and had been offered a nice position in another bank and was still feeling empty. It was then that I realised WEAR Ghana was my only way to achieve true happiness in my work life.

    Angorkor Nai-Kwade, partner of Awuraa Abena Agyeman on
    Angorkor Nai-Kwade, partner of Awuraa Abena Agyeman on

    AMOAFOWAA: Who is/are your role model(s)?

    AWURA: I’ve got many. At various points in my life I’ve found myself learning from many different people… A fantastic boss, my siblings, even a character in a book or movie. My role model is anyone who has a trait I find admirable.  

    AMOAFOWAA: Who do you dream to dress in the whole world?

    AWURA: Oprah. All the African presidents, Chimamanda, Will Smith, all Ghanaian presidents, Obama, Patrick Awuah, Mensah Otabil to mention but a few.

    AMOAFOWAA: What inspires your designs?

    AWURA: We draw inspiration from so many random things.  Trees, light… I find that I’m most creative in a moving vehicle. Perhaps it’s because those are the few times I’m truly sitting still. I should be still more times.  I’ve decided I’ll learn how to meditate but it takes a lot of practice to master.

    Works of Wear Ghana on
    A design of Wear Ghana on

    AMOAFOWAA:  Can clothes speak on beings?

    AWURA: Hopefully I understand your question.  Clothes do a lot of talking.  There are people who you have probably never spoken to who assume they know you because of your appearance. And clothes take up a huge chunk of one’s appearance.  Sometimes without even getting close you can imagine how a person’s breath will smell, just because of how they’re dressed. Kojo Yankson of the Joy Super Morning show demonstrated this perfectly in one of his ‘messages from the morning man’ in which he speaks of a robbery where thieves get easy access into a building because they dress up as firemen.  

    Designs by Wear Ghana on
    Designs by Wear Ghana on

    AMOAFOWAA: Yes, you understood perfectly. Any hobbies?

    AWURA: I love dancing and chatting with people whose minds I find beautiful.  Reading too.

    AMOAFOWAA: Can fashion contribute to national development?

    AWURA: Not only can it, it absolutely should. The global fashion industry is a multi billion enterprise.   If we think of fashion as a wealth creating force, we’ll approach it in a more business minded way. That’s what’s often missing in the local industry. There’s a disconnect between the art and the business of fashion.  

    AMOAFOWAA: What is your take on gender equality in Africa in recent times?

    AWURA: I honestly don’t see people in terms of male and female.  I see them as intelligent people or hard working people or kind people.  But that’s not to say there’s no gender imbalance. There are struggles women go through that men would never fully appreciate. Like having a pervert grab my ass while I was shopping in a market. And the painful part when these things happen is that most of the people around including women think it’s funny. “It’s just a man being a man. Oh come on, don’t make a fuss” But on the other hand I know there are battles men have to fight on a daily basis that I may never fully appreciate.  At the end of the day, I think we should all just learn to treat each other with integrity and respect.  Male or female.  Period.

    A design of Wear Ghana on
    A design of Wear Ghana on

    AMOAFOWAA: Politics, does it affect the fashion industry?

    AWURA: It affects every industry and the clothing and textiles industry is no exception. The fact that at the end of the day it is politicians who run the economy and that the economy has such a direct bearing on how the business climate works, shows clearly that politics affects us all.

    AMOAFOWAA: Has formal education inspired you in any way?

    AWURA: I believe it has. If for nothing at all I’m able to browse the internet to learn ways of building empires and see how other clothing lines are being efficient.  I am however of the opinion that our method of education is seriously porous. And I doff my hat to people like Patrick Awuah who are redefining Ghanaian education.


    AMOAFOWAA: Sexual harassment as barrier of the realization of the hard work of women, do you think the world can break off this completely?

    AWURA: I certainly hope it does.  it can be such a distraction.  It’s negative and evil and I hope the men of this world grow up. Grow up! Period!  Learn how to shut up when your lust surfaces.  And I’ve come to realise it’s a power thing. Many harassers use harassment as a tool to show who is boss. That’s not to say women are not guilty too. So let’s all grow up, people.

    AMOAFOWAA: Awuraa, you are beautiful, tall, fashionable and hot with long dreadlocks. Considering the opinion of many Africans of people who wear locks, may I please ask what inspired your locks?

    AWURA: Eish eish! Please print your description for me so that I hang it on my wall those times when I’m feeling downright ugly. I was tired of perming my hair. I hate hair driers. I wanted to be free from them. And I love the natural look.

    AMOAFOWAA: If you are given a chance to go back in time to erase some parts of your life, which parts will you erase and why?

    AWURA: None. Each minute of my life has formed me. That’s not to say I’m proud of everything I’ve ever done. But it’s all been a learning curve.

    A designer of Wear Ghana at work
    Designers of Wear Ghana at work


    AMOAFOWAA: Single, attached or married?

    AWURA: Single

    AMOAFOWAA: Who fits your description of a perfect man?

    AWURA: Hmm. An intelligent man who is true to himself and has loads of integrity and character.  If he’s good looking and tall and dark too I no bore kraa smile emoticon

    AMOFOWAA: (Laughing out loud) Who can gain your respect?

    AWURA: Anyone who’s trying to make the world a better place in any sphere of life, in any discipline.

    AMOAFOWAA: You have made Ghana proud  and is still on course, are there some challenges?

    AWURA: Oh thank you, that’s very kind of you. There are. Our very brand name bears our identity as Ghanaians. And every time something goes amiss in the country and the way it’s run, we cringe. From dumsor to senseless flooding right down to the fact that there seems to be absolutely no national agenda. It affects businesses. It affects families.  

    AMOAFOWAA: Who will you describe as a perfect man of God?

    AWURA: One who is true to himself. Who admits his flaws and works towards becoming the best version of himself. Who appreciates the fact that God is wise and calls on us to be wise as well.

    AMOAFOWAA: Politicians, Priests and Imams/Mallams, Traditionalists, Public and Civil Servants, The Whole Nation, who do you think is the major contributor of the nation’s stagnancy in progress?

    AWURA: All of us. We are all responsible for where we are. Whenever I see people jumping queues I wonder how we even feel like we have a moral right to complain about politicians. It appears there’s something wrong with the way the majority of us think.

    AMOAFOWAA: Indeed. Any interest in sports?

    AWURA: In the past it used to be any football game between Ghana and another country. But I’m losing interest in even that.

    AMOAFOWAA: Lol.  If you have any advice for Ghanaians to use as ticket of progress, what will it be?

    AWURA: Let’s start thinking.  Period.

    AMOAFOWAA: What is your say on racial discrimination?

    AWURA:  It’s wrong. But I think respect is earned. It’s a human thing. When you come from a continent which constantly portrays itself as a laughing stock, you can only understand when others ridicule you. I think that it’s only when the African proves by his actions in his home country that he is a thinking and progressive being that the world will take us seriously. Everything else is begging to be respected because we are humans too and for me that’s not good enough. Even animals have rights. Not very impressive if you ask me.

    AMOAFOWAA: Wow! What is your biggest dream?

    AWURA: To be able to say when I’m old and dying, that I’ve lived as  best I could.  To be able to build WEAR Ghana into an empire that thrives 100 years on.

    Logo of Wear Ghana
    Logo of Wear Ghana


    AMOAFOWAA: It surely will come true with determination like yours. Now if you were to choose between teaching, preaching, news casting and petty selling apart from fashion, which will you choose and why?

    AWURA: Hmm. What makes you ask? Lol. Maybe teaching. Maybe.

    AMOAFOWAA: How do you choose fabrics for individuals where Wear Ghana is concerned?

    AWURA: Personality, design, occasion, amongst other factors.

    AMOAFOWAA: You are an achiever; there are many wanting to step into your shoes, what is your advice to those people?

    AWURA: You think? Well I guess it would be this:  constantly strive to achieve your highest potential.

    AMOAFOWAA: Now please give your general advice to followers of

    AWURA: Keep following This lady rocks. And let’s all support her autism project.

    AMOAFOWAA: Wow! Thank you very much and thank you for your time on

    AWURA: Thanks, Darling.

     Her inspiration came in this form:
    Pretty flowers are known to have vicious thorns
    But I know a pretty flower whose thorns, if there ever are, never show
    And her smile brightens the skies


Pretty flowers are conceited

Deriving payments from their view

I know a pretty flower who works harder than normal flowers


Pretty flowers care not about their heads

All they need is a bright light to show themselves

I know a pretty flower who is her own light and values a good head


Yes, I know a pretty flower called Awuraa Abena Agyeman

You have seen no flower if you haven’t seen this flower

Long legged

Natural in shine and beauty

Creative in decorum

Like an earth of forever sunshine,

None can blame those who wish for only flowers of Awuraa’s kind

In a world so blessed but cursed with many flowers of thorns in sluggishness

Love her or hate her

If there are stars of Africa,

Her motivation and strides makes her the moon worth following

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



A weird thing, in Accra,  sat
Sputtering and mumbling “tar”
Until it said it was called day

Day which was new
But had many problems dew
The first after a terror flood

It is going to be used
It won’t get the privilege

Of seeing the lazy in action

It would die
Without anyone acknowledging it
Its Wednesday cursed it before its conception

So found in sat mood
Saying “tur” in musing
It is a day so unfortunate
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 6th May 2015



Emotions dance in veins of the holies

And I am a holy

The weather’s fan is fanning vain whims

And I have a vain whim

The sky’s complexion is dark and light

And I am the sky

At this point, fans are suicide

Air conditioners, murder

The air is rudely entering pores without knocking

And I have pores

I am now a puppet

Being played by nature’s complexities

And taunted with things I have not

Truly, this world is cold

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Some sit like a congregation

Others look like they are on relegation

Some are buried in books like they had illiterate suicide

Fashionistas are comparing

Lookers are watching

Uninspirers are down

Different languages compete for attention

It is a community like the failed of the rich

Garnished by a coconut tree

A learning zone like a sky tour

UCOMS, I have come

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



Oh He dressed sky beings with glow
So they will be visible to eyes so low
He dressed the man with strength
So they could guard protection’s length
He dressed the woman with beauty
So she could charm in surety
He even knows the shy sky
Would need privacy for her nudity
So dresses her with darkness
And sacks us to close eyes
To give her space
He knows it all
Your rise and fall
So work in your hall
As long as you have breath
Stand tall
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Featured Image -- 6576

Roastings and drownings

Fire and water

Ghana has seen another May nine

But tear gas folds its arms in innocence

Nature meets artificial

Fire holds the hands of water

And harvest lives in horrible hunts

Leaving us awed



We are crying

Because fear stands holding his whip

We are mourning our future selves

We are seeing the cruel hunt

Free, we ask when ours will be

Who will identify the burnt?

When will the bloated be seen?

A child and a mother lie in the arms of death

Wearing mud from hair to toe



For those who think water battles fire

You now they can marry so well

Romancing in pain

Kissing in killings

Giving birth to fears which roll all tongues

And tickling brains into thinking of human drains

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


(My sympathy to all the people who died yesterday because of drowning and the fire outbreak at the filling station in Accra. I won’t post any picture for sensitivity sake. May their souls rest in perfect peace)



Kola Nut
Kola Nut

Kola-nut lasts longer

Oh! In the mouth of those who value it

Learn, that the elders did form a quote right

And I value my Kola-Nut



Not that it is too sweet

Or that it is too sour

Tasting idsdetermination of pushings to greater heights



Kisses for a brother

On his nerdy cheeks?

Feelings of wishings

In an unimaginable ways? He knows me best in poem weaving



Lasting longer is all I need

Arresting more fears is all I pray

Reading more minds is all I hope

Before his heavenly bells do call

In a fantastic fashion known only by God

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

(Happy birthday to Kofi Larbi, popularly called Kola Nut. He is the main brain behind this blog. He is a great pusher, a rare gem, a great reader, a storm of inspiration and the world is a better place with him in it. I wish for him all he wishes for himself and more and in thanksgiving, I say thanks for being that elder brother.)


Boy is twisted

Ruins his upper

Uncaged but demented

Chess of a mess stripped into a dress

Ending fatherhood borrowing an old womb



Jesus must be in distress

Eating His disgust by looking unto His father

Never hoping to use His cane

Never wishing to have grown his mother

Emancipation damaged him

Really, God knows that flaunted beauty has turned him into a mess in a dress



Fie on all who kill flower pride

So muscles do wish to be transformed?

Aggressively he shows his prowess

And shows how timid women must be packaged

Even for one who springed from a pen and an is

He is living his dream making us uglies

He is now a lovely mess in a dress

Came as a higher, going down as a lower

Some might call it living it all

I call it cheating nature and God

He surely must produce the stick he lost

When the guards of death go by their human register

It is there he will see, his folly in the life he thought free

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015



We are like varied but same flowers
Pretty in different shapes, colours and sizes
We are like flowing rivers
Bubbly and dense but burning by rocks beneath
We are like opposing reflections
Speaking in weird deflections
Making dumb demi gods weak
While stabbing ourselves with our double edged daggers
Yes, we are that twisted

I remember when I was with Pee
He asked if I wanted the dress I was staring at
I said no when my head had worn it
And the mirrors of my mind’s eyes
Had caused me to applaud
Although I could afford
I wanted it as a gift from him to worship
So I kept mute making him feel like a child in the wrong for nothing
We parted with tension being our paths
Of course he knew not
That my kind and I are that twisted

Of course I know you are no magicians
But I wanted Kwasi to hold me tight
As I struggled to be freed
And kiss me in style

Saying sweet nothings of assurance

While stroking my hair in play
But he left when I said no
Knowing not that my kind and I
Are so twisted

Akweley told me of her date with Duodo
He had asked if she wanted a party for her birthday
She said she had said no
Hoping he would give her a surprise

Featuring her family and frriends
Too bad, he had no clue
That most flowers are twisted

Maame told me about Kwame
He had wanted to take her to his parents
She had said no
And needed command
Showing he was serious like the knight in shinning armour
But he had said okay
Incurring her wrath
Poor dude
He didn’t know
That we are so twisted

Wendy wanted her friends jealous
Obviously wanting Ofosu to kiss her in their midst

Giving open declarations of their love

To make them know she had her catch
But he felt the pangs of shame
When he touched her and she shouted her no
Poor him, he did not know the formula
That we are twisted in wiring

We are twisted
Tight fisted in clarity
We are damaged
Loving commandments in Lovity
We are dogs who bark
Mostly with no intentions to bite
We are water, always needing our cups
We are special beings
Who know not our own formulas
We are lionesses mostly needing tamers
We are what we’ve always been in denial
We are oh, what is the word?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Nana Awere Damoah
Nana Awere Damoah

Like an angel
He brightened my world
Getting to thoughts of paranoia
Where hoarders are concerned
I saw not how
But he did his magic
Brought on his therapy
And an uptight me
Began to open up
I thought it was magic
But it was inspiration
Sharpening braveness
Making me an achiever
Slowly, I found myself thanking God
For a father no matter how far
For a mentor, no matter how young
For an angel, no matter how wingless
Thanking God for his birther
No matter how strange
Happy birthday Nana Awere Damoah



Another morning visits

Coming with its stomach

Its need for clothing

Its need for being walked or driven like a dog

Its need for dialogue

And its many conflicts in diversity



Abena, like the earth which must hosts it,

I succumb to its whims

Allowing myself to be played like its guitar

For I don’t want to be the failed host

So like a broom, I sweep its need

Hoping it would be merciful in shortening my span

But I keep getting piercier and stronger

Sweeping its needs cleaner by the day



I know its strains will make me weak

And my weak will make me seek

And my seek will make me leak

And my leak will make me meek

In stillness and transition into a shadow after a ghostly peak

But I still work to be a good host

A good host so I can also at least boast

Of being a good care giver

One who was brave enough not to shiver

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015


When I spotted him

It was like magic

His light travelled to wake dead feelings

Buried under the earth of my skin

He was the electricity

And I the wires



So I found myself asking

“Is he too taken?”

If he is, then I committed adultery

Adultery of thoughts

Because he looked into me

Held my hands and took  me 

Into the secret chambers of  our mind’s executive suit

Bathed me and scented me to perfection

Leading me like a sweet lamb into its virgin bed



Like a perfect masseur,

his massages were magical

Lighting and darkening my skin,

At his touch and rest respectively,

Like disco lights

Until they begged for his prayers

Even so, they were denied

Because he took his time fearing electrocutions



Lickings were the killers

Commands made me the child I never was

So I rained but never touched his land

With him, his earth made my raindrops wet

Lightening and thundering the yearnings

His clouds consuming my rains



Earth with clouds

Made my sky powerless

Took my sun

And plucked my moon which attracted all my stars

He took it all

And made my safe naked within

With him having it all

He held me captive

Even before he said his first hi

Throwing me into the dungeons of his  Cupid prisons

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015



I challenged a student who just completed high school to write a poem on faith. I am actually surprised she did this in a matter of 30 minutes:


Many find it difficult holding on to me

I am defined as the substance of things hoped for

The evidence of things not seen

I am the best companion in trying times

Yet you tend to be impatient when I am just what you need

My components are peace and assurance

But most importantly hope because without it I have nothing to give substance to

I do grow so like a seed

When I am nurtured

 I became a mighty tree

And provide you with shade under the scorching sun

Faith is my name

Love Nyaaba