​THE REFLECTING WAKE


I saw your birth

And I feel your dying heartbeat

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

And like all babies, you had your needy conditions


II

The footsteps of time has seen many changes

From many ranges

Plucking down hopes like ripe oranges

And hanging hopes like fake bells on Christmas trees

Yet our needs pile in readiness

To travel with another you


III

It might be greed to our prides and egos feed

It might be seeds to our ambitions and targets lead

It might be fire woods to our dreams and aspirations 

Turn ashes in the passing winds

Yet our eyes stand open

Like a needy church in a sin zone

Waiting to embrace another in your wake


IV

The tears of thanksgiving

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

In churches and clubs and houses and streets

Will let you know about human loyalty

But take heart in your death

Knowing you were like this new born

Whose fate tallies yours

Taking time to brush your vampire teeth

Which chewed many in the happiness of others

And clouded to rain on eyes of many

Whose curses justify the happiness at your cruel wake

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec 31, 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 20

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

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

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

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

“Turn around”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​THIS SCAR OF MINE

I am like a peacock
Feathery in coloured beauty

All eyes see is the pride that hides my painful ride

All mouths rap are rumours in parcelled fancy

About my stretches which naught fetches for their eyes

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

None sees the scar beneath the feathers

Funny, they watch from a blurred distance


II

I am like a goat

My fur milking my sweat dry

Confusing my audience

Even when life hits in thundering strikes

They confuse my jump of pain and shake for sanes 

For stubbornness

Claiming disobedience when I walk on live coals

For things of my interest

None cares to know about the scar which drives my need


III

I have a scar 

Which has bought for me an expensive and durable insomnia

A seed freezing stiffly, shaking painfully

In jerks of spittles and fecals

In the town of sleep

Caring not about time

Caring not about place

Caring not about an occasion

Always fighting with swords to light its wounds

Why can’t they see?


IV

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

In a dark tainted expensive limousine of no salvation?

Why can’t they hear

The heart which stops to beat and beats to wail

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

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

Could it be they are too low to see?

Why do heavy boots kick my name

Into gutters of shame

A shame they are hunting for keeps?



V

I wish they see what drives their greed

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

For in this rattles of horror

I am trying

Trying hard to hold my own

Mending my scar the best I can

Even in its taste for swords of woundy rekindling

But then again

Why is this dramatic mind confusing few for all

Buying sorrows in my precious vault 

With currencies of over thinking?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 30, 2017

​ROYAL SALY

The ocean blankets your very warmth

The trees serves the gentle air on plates of satisfaction

The flowers wave in beautification

Giving smiles like that of a gentle sun

Even the thatch whistles your modesty in luxurious melodies

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

Who dares to breastfeed sadness on your royal laps?

Oh Royal Saly!


II

Ashoka picked you for a reason

To make the dawn of enlightenment in your season

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

In just few years

To urge them to strive no matter their fears

Even if rains of hurdles drain their sanes

As harmattan of confusion clouds their skies

In such arms of comfort

Where nature bows to humanity

Who dare to nurse chaos?

None but a phantom!

Oh Royal Saly!


III

Where your sea ships sit in call

Our fallen love is called

Where your sea sands wait with blessed fingers

We go in happy massage of our feet

Where your pool mirrors our wonders

Our souls look to see the face of God

You are where colour fades in supremacy

A place where humanity blends

Into a beautiful and peaceful earth

Why will a frown visit faces in your bosom?

Even half a reason exists not!

Oh Royal Saly!


IV

A dream of mother earth!

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

A cola on tongues of visitors!

A fortunate bride’s gift!

A fulfilled soul’s dream!

You are all these and more

Oh Royal Saly!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 30, 2017

Photo Credit: Ashoka Crew

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​CHRIST IS BORN

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

We wake with will of a win

Cling to the song of Christ’s birth

Flinging all that carries burdens in a bin

His birth signifies sin’s death

Oh Hallelujah, the king is born!


II

We whistle with warmth wherever

Knowing our lows will never flow with the ending 

Of the river of the year, never ever

And every broken soul will be mending

Oh Hallelujah! The king is born!


III

We work our wrestling within

With hope of eloping any pending traps

Which seeks to wear us out thin

In the hands of the leading as maps

Oh Hallelujah! The king is born!


IV

With or without

Let feuding hands shake

In or out

Let all pain break

Slim or stout

Let pride and egos inflated, roads of healing take

For oh Hallelujah! Christ the king is born!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©Dec. 25, 2017

​ON ACCIDENTINOLOGY (CRAZY STANZAS)

Many minds have different layers of thoughts

Superstition leading their mental institutions

Abena, I believe in human fallibilities

We are mostly like stubborn goats

Pushing to the very places whose whips

Still lick their mouths

From the burst skin they plucked from our bodies

Why?


II

Some drivers have turned fishes in alcoholic seas

Driving like swimming in a shark hounding

As passengers hold their seats like cowards

Hoping their hold saves from any incident

Ah!

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

Flying in the guise of driving

Some love challenging fishes in seas

Pretending their skins have fins 

Going places marked in danger

Some indulge in bacchanalian orgies

Their noses turned noticed rat holes

Lighted into smoke-hood

Their minds heated by hard drugs

Their egos inflated by alcohol

Their daring enhanced by reckless madness

Why won’t accidents and deaths be attracted?


III

Those who visit temples

And temples who accept congregants without scrutiny

Dweebaadweebaa is not written on foreheads

Neither are its neighbours of infestations

Know you are an egg

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

Know you are a glass

Who can’t play pilolo with death

Know you are mortal and a very breakable doll

As happiness beckons on this festive season

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 24, 2017

​CROWERS AND PECKERS


When the crowers of today turn peckers at dawn

Feasting on feeds of hens and chicks

While time walks without turning back

Their future in saucepans of history will be painful

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

Ginger of hurts

Salt of under development

Tears of penury

And cubes of curses

Let earful cocks clean their ears

As they stand on pedestals of high repute

In their youthful dawn

And heed to the call of change

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 22, 2017.

​LET YOUR KINDNESS WALK


Let, let your kindness walk

In sneakers on these slippery tiles of need

Let, let your kindness walk

In knighthood in this festival to feed

Let, let your kindness walk

Like Santas who give to goodness lead

Let, let your love walk the talk of giving


II

There are bodies living in nakedness

Walking in paupering madness

There are stomachs of roaringness

Living in pain of weakness

There are hearts sitting in loneliness

Hoping for a smile of humaneness

There are hearts living on bitterness

Hoping for acts of kindness

So let, let your love walk the talk of love

To please the celebrant above

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 22, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​CUNNING SMILES


Eno Bowaa, Akusua Duku, Ama Afarewaa eeei!

Kofi Amoabeng, Opare Kusi, Agya Obuo eeei!

When the sun travels east in settlement each day

My thanksgiving becomes as tall as fading shadows

For your smiling teeth which held daggers in the dark

And worked on a battle with my back


II

Is it fair?

Is it fair that you pair my kindness with a cross

Meant for thousand Judases?

Is it fair?

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

After feeding you in your haunting seat?

Is it fair?

Is it fair?

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

When my eggs feed our town?

What philosophical madness holds spirits so vile

That its possession makes you drunk in hatred?


III

Eno ne Agyanom

I have landed on my buttocks at your feet

Kick with your feet or your sticks

Send your spittle to rain on my honour

Shoot your words like poisonous arrows 

To pierce the heart of my sanity

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

Otwereduampong is not a blind seer

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

To make you immortal

So use a gutter broom to sweep my importance

Life is but a clone of faults

Bouncing on walls of Karma

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 18, 2017

​HONOUR THIS PRAYER


You know the spine of every palm frond

Holds it firmly 

Even in the slaps and blows of the wind

You know a seed holds the future of its fruit

You know divinations of norms

Twist paths of stories

I am on this drive which the winds of life turn

Abrempong mu Obrempong

Lead my drive!


II

In a vehicle where I am a passenger in a bit

A mate in a bit

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

Only to get off at your appointed station

I need you to perfect my seed

I need you to fix its all

I need you to hold it into independence

So I don’t turn the alighted not so delighted

Anyame mu Onyame

Lead my drive!


III

This road is filled with claws and pores

Yet my tyres have no where else to thread

Every puncture fills the fun of fickles

Every stop digs the greed of pushers

Every break oils the need of the unscrupulous

Every empty tank calls for even thirsty gallons

So Odomankomah!

Odi Asaase yi so ahenkan!

Judah mu gyata!

Please lead my drive!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 17, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 17

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An officer came to visit me on that very day. 

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

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

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

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

“Bee. Bee Davids”

“Nice name. Where are you from?” 

I couldn’t hold my patience anymore.

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

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

“So what exactly do you want from me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

THE UNFORTUNATE CITIZEN

These eyes still have their seals

Primitive living

Oblivious of a world on wheels

A cup for mouths and animals

Like Abels in a Jesus world

They live laughing in loving misery

II

I have seen anuses feeding their soil

At the full glare of many

As flies chorus the pushing

I have seen the flies following and dining with hands

Blessed with brains

I have seen a going and a coming

With nothing to show

Tired muscles screaming through showing veins

At the injustice done them

There must be blessing in ignorance!

III

They give with no knowledge of benefits

They chant with no knowledge of duties

They thumb with no knowledge of implications

This must be the dream of politricks!

IV

You beautiful hearts in an unfortunate place!

Arrested by need!

Punched by greed!

Entrenched in the past!

Intoxicated by ignorance!

How I wish modern literacy were a spell

Under my helpless grasp!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 12, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 16

Juicy mangoes peeled in its attractive fibres will never fail to attract flies. Curiosity, we know, is mostly a trap but which cat can suppress it? The Basic Examination Certificate Examination (BECE) was a day away. Ntwanu had registered me with Jalatu Junior High School. I attended few of their classes but never felt comfortable in their midst. Early Sunday morning leading to the Monday when the exams were to start, I had a call from Teacher Mante. He was a tall, lanky ebony black man with small eyes, long face and a huge nose. One who would get lost at the least appearance of darkness. He wanted me to meet him with some few candidates for a discussion.

“I know a friend who has the English and Pre-Vocational Skills questions. He says they are right under his roof. He is a very connected and trusted man.”

At the mention of this, all of the other candidates smiled. I sat there expressionless. A part of me wanted to get those questions, a part of me kept pricking my conscience on how wrong it was. I mean, I had and still have my limits where sins are concerned and to engage in examination malpractices was not one of them. A part of me thought I could pass with ease while a part didn’t want to take any chances. I was lost in thought when a loud murmuring brought me back into reality.

“All you need to do is to pay 5 cedis each for the first two papers. You know they print a day to the exams right? So he will get the others.”

Some students thought it expensive but it died down and everyone agreed to pay.

“Also, you will need to contribute 2 cedis each to be given to the invigilators so they will relax and help you pass”

The “ei” chorus came and passed as though it never was, few seconds of silence and they all agreed. I sat there, knowing I never agreed but never disagreed. My silence concurring their acceptance and making me guilty like them.

“And what will you do for me?”

The eyes which looked hidden in a forest of lids were set on me. Dressed in trousers and a fitting top which was one of my decent pieces, I felt stupid seeing the lust in his eyes. After he dismissed us, he asked that I see him privately.

“You know you’re a very pretty girl? All you need to pass is you.” He then started advancing towards me like a skilled chameleon. I stood there looking at him, knowing what he was doing and feeling his foolishness. It is very annoying when a man decides to manipulate a girl for sexual favours when the said girl knows his intentions. So I asked him what he wanted and asked that he be as candid as possible.

“Sex. I want to sleep with you, I can do anything for you you know”

“Anything?” The word caught my attention and I saw a man ready to give his respect just for sex, a man skilled at destroying young girls, a man dangerous to the future of most girls’ chastity, so I agreed and followed him to his house.

His single room reeked of alcohol, cigarettes and some form of rot I couldn’t place my hands on. My countenance made him know what I thought about his place. After trying so hard to put the place in order, he opted for a cheap hotel which I consented to.

I pushed him into the bathroom and ordered him to take a very thorough bath. He was first shocked at the commanding tone of my voice, then subdued with intrigue. I saw his manhood which was something so ordinary, so average even as his lust showed its fingerprints in its wake.

After he came to the room from the bathroom, I inspected his body, used a piece of toilet paper to wipe the cave between his rear and buttocks and sent him back again to get clean. Satisfied that he was clean, I pushed him down and massaged the small him with my fingers. I was never going to go down on that pig. Concentrating on his sensitive part, he came over and over again. Judging by his cum, I could see he was getting a lot from many places. Little drops per cum. That 34 year old dangerous bastard!

I sat on him and started riding, he felt pleasured for the first few minutes and went off totally. I got off and looked for his sparking points, I caught his neck, soles of his feet and his midribs. So I rode him again and again. On the fifth round, while panting, he begged for mercy but I didn’t listen. I was bent on teaching him a lesson and was not about to stop for anything. I spiked his drink with a booster and made sure he was trapped in ecstasy.

It was the first time seeing someone’s inner rejection battling with his physical pleasure needs. His eyes were screens of plea and need and I sat on, riding in his punishment all the little girls whose virginity he had stolen, all the little girls he had manipulated for his sexual greed, hoping this lesson will save some green horns from his lustful clutches.

Time must have travelled without prompting me, when I realized what was happening, his “jack” was still standing but he had collapsed. I cleaned up, dressed and stood, torn between leaving him to his fate and calling help. Finally, I settled on leaving. I met a waitress at the main exit and told him to send a note to the one in room 306 as I could not reach him although we had an appointment. I told her I had to leave and will call later because I had another appointment and left.

The examinations were good. Invigilators were lenient, obviously due to the bribe and some students had “apɔ”. I decided to go the good way, writing with my mind and studies and I felt great doing so. I didn’t see Teacher Mante all through, word had it, he was critically ill and had been transferred to the Komfo Anokye Teaching Hospital. According to Miss Dua who visited him, he said he had a heart attack due to stress. Well, I was grateful he did not lose his life due to my lesson and so left the school, hoping to return for a result which would help me further my education. At sixteen and a half, I felt I had achieved something real in life and I was grateful to God. I decided to go and give alms to the poor not in Kejetia Market where fake people abound, but in a church using hearsay and personal judgement.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

SEARCHING 

Many a steps are forced by need

Many a man’s need suffereth from greed

One’s seen need is another’s goldmine

I am that hen

Looking for the feet of the mythical hawk

Stepping on the wellbeing of my chick


II

All many eyes see

Is the flower with different colours

Standing tall in the wind

Blown here and there

And still stands unshaken in the calm

But if pillows could talk

They will tell secret tales of hurdles

Which suck sleep from the honey bed

I am that hen

Who has escaped many a cruel machete

From the hands of greedy celebrants

Using the helplessness of my hen

In the abattoir of healers


III

I have danced naked on many a hopeful ground

Shown my weaknesses which grows with days

Paid have-nots with money of my blood

Fed on biles of failure and disappointment

And felt my intestines beg a tear closure

I am that hen

Whose soft end sits in its innocent chick

Imprisoned in the cage of a disorder

One that brings me silly orders


IV

But I go on

Jumping from here to there

Hoping a good wind will send me THERE

THERE, where redemption sits in the mass of deceit

To free mine from the shells of life’s unfortunacy

I am that hen

Hopeful with every new day

No matter the deadly punches of their previous

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 10, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 15

​It takes steady legs and a determined heart to climb the ladder of success. Since the world felt powerful associating with already made personalities, each day served me a plate of zeal to change my life for the better. Aunt Aba bought back my fabrics at a good price and I decided to work less to allow me space to learn for my basic exams. Two days to the first paper, I felt some fear pangs in my abdomen. Ntwanu visited when he could and brought me things he thought I would need.

Shai called me to come to the Glory of God Church and just ended the call around mid morning. I got worried about her frightened tone. Between my books and new family, I felt like I was walking on needles. I just put on a shirt and mini skirt and headed to the place in my car. Dido, my new bodyguard, followed in another car. Upon reaching the church, I saw Shai draped in some white calico (stained in blood) from head to toe and tied to a pole in the middle of the church. As members of the church closed their eyes in loud prayers and clapping, the man of God was pouring some kind of water on Shai. His disciples were hitting her with canes and she looked really beaten with marks and swelling on her face. 

I wanted to understand what was happening so asked out loud:

“What’s happening here? Why are you abusing someone’s daughter like this?”

The pastor took a bell and shook it and the whole church became quiet, then spoke:

“Let there be quiet! There is another sinner in our midst. Even her clothes show she is working as a devil of the night too. I told you getting one will bring another, didn’t I? The Lord never lies! Great Mazuka!”

“Mazuka is king!” thundered the church.

Before I could say “hey”, I was in the grips of his disciples with calico being used to cover my body. I was sent to another pole, tied and the ritual began. Whipping and torturing words:

“ Pray for the demons of lust to get out of this person. Shoot the devil of prostitution from them, be sure to throw the catapult of stones on the demons possessing these two and finally, shoot them with the Holy Spirit in prayers. Now start.”

I was shocked at the pain supposed men of God could inflict on their fellow beings but could not think straight because of the loud voices with the added claps and the strong scented water. One woman had the voice of a loud guinea fowl.

“Yehowa you are Yarweh! Show your mercy to these sinners and let them be free from demons of prostitution! As I clap, trap the evil spirits within them and make them flee. I throw the catapult of Mazuka on these demons, I bind them with the rope of the All Seeing, I shoot them with the gun of Almighty and I bomb them with the fire of the Holy Spirit. Yiri maputu! Yiri uzani, yiri nara, ibei adula.”

The woman, tall, huge, bleached and rewarded with the colours, orange, red and green kept clapping and repeating same words for over thirty minutes. I felt somewhat scared anytime she ended with the strange words. It was as if she was chanting. I didn’t know what was keeping Dido but it sure made me feel unsettled. Just when I was about to ask them what we could do to be free, the men barged into the church premises, Ntwanu leading. Those I knew and those I did not know. They numbered about 30 wielding bats and sticks with few holding guns. 

Ntwanu fired a warning shot and I was surprised to see the pastor kneeling and shivering like a leaf. The church scattered as all church members kept running helter skelter. Some calling on God, others calling on Great Mazuka! While some of Ntwanu’s men untied me, I watched as he dealt the pastor some slaps. I had never seen him so fierce and angry and in action. I saw a different side of him. One disciple urinated on himself after watching his leader slapped over and over again. The pastor was fat with a huge stomach, dressed in a red robe in a barefooted mode with eyes almost popping out.

After disciplining them for two minutes, I realized the others handcuffed the leader and his disciples. Ntwanu and Dido took us home. I didn’t say anything on our way home although I wanted to know what was going to happen to the handcuffed. Ntwanu was worried about my silence but I was concerned about the new Ntwanu I saw. Ruthless and cruel! When we reached home, the family doctor was waiting. He attended to our wounds and gave Shai some injections with some infusions. I sat by her bed and watched over her, my wounds barely visible and relevant to me. I had failed the girl I swore to protect and I felt so bad. Mimi had travelled with a client and Shai was in charge of our underground business. How she ended up tied and tortured by a supposed church was besides me. 

“Baby girl, aren’t you going to talk to me? I am dying of sadness seeing how you are trying to avoid me.”

Ntwanu’s voice took me by surprise. I thought he had left. 

“I am not avoiding you, I am just in shock. The ordeal was a bit shocking” I partially lied through my teeth. 

“I know there is something more. I hope you know I will never hurt you? I love you so much baby girl. I will give my life if need be, to make you happy”.

I hugged him at that point and saw him off with a French kiss that I did not put my heart into. 

Shai woke up a little after midnight and narrated her story.

“All the girls had been booked so when the order came in for 2000 cedis for an hour, I decided to go myself. Upon reaching there, I was ushered into the church. I thought it was the fantasy of the man to have sex in the church so I stripped and started making advances towards him. I kissed him and after enjoying for a while he started calling Great Mazuka. Some people came, caught and attacked me. It was in the morning they asked that i spoke to my mother to come and see my salvation”

I asked myself what a church was. Why it believed in casting our demons of sins. Why that particular one ordered a prostitution agency to send a representative only for them to pounce on her. I just didn’t understand the kind of salvation they as individuals wanted to give and the kind of thoughts they had been brainwashed to have. Questions about them kept running through my mind. How do they perceive God? How do they walk around without fearing their shadows. (Because clearly, sin is part of our daily struggles.) How do they live? Do they ever live with some form of happiness when they can’t stand their little sins? In a world where a sin today is the win tomorrow, how do they accept the change? I knew prostitution will always be bad but isn’t it part of our lives? Even men use their sexuality in exchange 

Well, I had examination just lurking around the corner so fed Shai, tucked her in, made sure she was sleeping and put her phone by her side, then went to my room to study. Life’s battles have stubbornness embedded in their hearts but they surely are the center of living. I swore never to lose out and to live fully, loving and protecting loved ones.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 2017.

Photo Credit: Google Pics

KICK NO FALLEN

The fallen is like an egg

You kick with an intent of destruction

Variety in lacking, is perfection of His creation

So let your feet be kind


II

Consider the legless and help the hopping

Consider the struggling and help the ill

Consider the suffering and bless the helpless

Please let your feet be kind to look

So as not kick the fallen

III

Let your feet be kind

For there is no shaking grounds

Let your feet be kind

A down today can be an up tomorrow

Let your feet be kind

Tomorrow’s history is today’s mystery

Let your feet be kind 

On this slippery earth

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 6, 2017

​FOR LOVE AND COUNTRY

No grass-cutter will ever use

Its own hands to light a fire

In a grass hole which houses its muse

Or its own loving empire

So why abuse your living space?


II

We are all sailing to leave to here gift

Like leaves on a running river

To those who we sift

Into this world with a shiver

So why corrupt this divine space?


III

Be the river that cleans the dirt

And not one that erodes the sand

Be the broom that sweeps the filth

And not one that sweeps gold dust

For we are in a transit, at a blessed place where our scents live on

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 5, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 14

​When a metal is left in mid air, it falls wherever the holder left it. My frustrations became unbearable that I had to abandon the fabric business. There were bribes at every office for registration of business, too many things to read, too many people to please from the fabric queen to packers. It was pretty clear I was not going to survive it. So I took on an appointment with a married man. He wanted to meet at Hotel Kun’s, a three star hotel. I was okay with it because it was good and quick money after my ordeal. 

Upon getting to the room, he asked that I tied him to a chair in the room and whip him. I did as I needed someone to whip badly to release tension, using his own belt. After that, he asked that I urinated on him. I did as told, stuffed my pantie into his mouth, and pinched him to his satisfaction. He then asked that I touched myself to make him see me come still in his tied position. I took off all my clothes in a slow manner, touched my breasts and struggled to lick them, touched my clitoris and moaned pleasureably. His moaning and yearning was evident and he tried to reach me from his tied position, obviously turned on by his pain. Then he asked that I threw water on him and fucked him in his tied position. I went to fetch water from the bathroom and heard a ruckus in the room. I rushed back only to see him pointing at me and crying:

She is the witch who kidnapped me and did this to me. She whipped me mercilessly and…  and I don’t know what she wants to do to me. Please help me wifey! I think she wants to cut off my manhood! She wants to kill me! She wants to harm me! Help me please! Don’t let that wicked woman hurt me.”

I was shocked to the bone. I stood there receiving slaps while the man sat sobbing. Wifey and her three cronies tied me up, asked me to tell them who sent me and called the police. The police took his time to come and I prayed very hard to stay alive.

“Witch! Murderer! So you want to kill my husband? Who sent you? Better tell me now or I won’t spare you. You young girls who try so hard to get money and end up working for ritualists! My God will not spare you!”

I looked at the woman and felt pity for her. She was as huge as an elephant with eyes almost lost to facial fats. Her nose was like a scattered three story apartments with a broken bridge, her mouth was as huge as two basins and she had on a very horrible makeup, her jaw moving like a grazing Caterpillar. Violet eyebrow pencil, silver lipstick, clothes too tight to fit, she looked like a miserable person. Her appearance was like a sex starved woman neglected both physically and emotionally. I felt so sorry that she knew nothing about her husband, the fact that he craved for BDSM and being dominated in bed. The fact that he knew how to play with her emotions and the very fact that I was caught in their bad web. Why some women allow men to frustrate them beats my imagination.

The police finally arrived after most of the hotel staff stood to watch me like an interesting movie. Most parts of my weave-on was gone, pulled off by wifey and friends. They untied and sent me straight to the counter back. The interrogation was not successful because I was too immersed in my thoughts to answer any question no matter how hard I was hit or shouted at. I called Mimi in the morning and she came running. She made a few calls and I was released at about 10am. On my way out, I saw my client and he started begging me to forgive him.

“My wife is an ugly witch. She would have… would have taken everything from me if she knew what was about to happen. Please forgive me. I am so ashamed…”

Ashamed or not, my business does not lie there. You will have to pay for everything that happened. From the abuse to the emotional stress. Fifteen times the amount you promised” Mimi retorted. 

Man wanted to argue but obviously feared a scandal so took out his check and signed us a check.

You’re lucky you came. I would’ve made sure to send your order to your wife, you coward!

Mimi spat, annoyed at his very sight. I, on the other hand kept thinking about how difficult it is in the business. So many problems and too many surprises. It was so easy to be caught in another’s trap and it was too easy to hurt. Having connections was the best solution but I at least got the compensation due me. 

When we got home, I read my notes in preparation for the Basic Education Certificate Examinations that was to come on the week after. Ms. Barwuah had been teaching me so well and I on the other hand wanted so badly to please her. I had a long shower and slept hoping tomorrow will pose a better model among past days.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 4, 2017.

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​DISABILITY: A DIFERENT FORM OF ABILITY

None knows how seeds form

None knows how they’ll turn up

Only Onyankopong Otwereduampong knows

So let your tongue be with no meanness

Let your eyes marry your mind in learning

That disability is a different form of ability


II

Every womb loves its proceeds

None is special than the other

It transcends boundaries

Class

Wealth

Fame

Intelligence

A mother is a mother

A father is a father

So let your voice be with no malice

Teach your mind to know that disability is a different form of ability


III

In a world where big and wholesome trees 

Are at the mercy of some winds

Ailing seeds need shades of protection

Shades of love

Shades of mentoring

For the fact is like a stomach

Every body owns one

So teach your ears to listen in correction

That disability is a different form of ability


IV

Open your arms to the armless

Let your sight lead the blind

Help walk the legless

Lend your voice to the voiceless

Be the mind of the lacking

Lighting colour of embrace to the unloved skin

Be the spine of the spineless

Be the ears of the deaf

Winds of ailment roam the earth

With no pointers as to who they’ll embrace

So know in all your days

That disability is a different form of ability

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 3, 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics