The Peppering Reality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abena Jemremedua © Feb. 2018 inspired by Kofi Gbedemah.

Photo Credit: Google Pics

​DAWN MUSINGS

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

That hang on every life’s tree

To flower into fruition

To be plucked or pecked, fall or rot

Only to reach a cut, break or an uproot

Many swim fighters might have failed in competition

Intentionally


II

Yet a real excitement

Like curiosity, hanging it’s neck

In the window of my unformed heart

Might have still pushed me here

Into the belly of this earth

Where many paths lead to the same dark spot

But transient hearts battle in disharmony

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

Only to stand possessed with fear

When their last bells call

What is man in this crooked spot of living?


III

Man is a mind of secrecy

Ailing or jubilating for the past

Scheming in the present

Without knowing the future

Man is like a programmed robot

Whose lifespan is known to its creator

But hidden from him

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

Man is like a blind god’s house

To be used and discarded in a time and place

Yet man lives like God 

With thoughts of who to lead and impress

Even when living plays itself in a sleep world

Oh! Fading dusts battling hardened rocks!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 20, 2018

WHEN NEED CHASES

I live

With the body of a lioness

But walk

At the pace of a snail

The earth; a cruel boiling

The air; a slapping heat

On this road, are monstrous feet

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

Even the dark seems dangerous

As legs with no intent join targeting ones in my hunt

When did you say is your time for me?


II

I hope your time is not in oblivion

Where moths lay claim on what needs recycling

I hope your time is not in full age

Where old age sprinkles wrinkles on my fallen skin

As joints pull down its locomotive powers with pain

I hope your fires under this very pot

Die not at the total evaporation of its working waters

Your intent have written endorsements

But you know how fast hearts you created move 

When need chases

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 18, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 16, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

THE VALENTINE’S DAY BROUHAHA


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know what to say Ato.”

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

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

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

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

“Did you do all these yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 14, 2018

Edited by Alhassan Nantomah

Photo Credit: Google Pics

ON THIS DAY OF LOVE


Varied colours of bees, birds and flowers

Will dance under Cupid’s showers

With soaps of gifts in parcels of hearts

Many in heels on tiles of public stages

In fantasies of crumbling perfect sheets

In the arms of secrecy

Others in sneakers of dignity 

On woolen carpeted back staged floors

Hoping their hearts’ arrows 

Will meticulously pierce and stick into hearts in foreverness

Yet some will wait in anticipation for naught

From hearts of insensitive dust cans

Who know how to eat in bowls of love

 Not how to prepare its meals nor do its dishes

What of those to be robbed in cages of manipulations

By Cupid’s unfortunate curses?

Oh there are those whose tarred tongues of lies

Will spark vehicles of deceit into chaotic accidents

Seeing to death of their couplings

Yet still some will hide in blankets of loneliness

Hoping with tears of need

For a future of fantasy

Where Cupid’s touch will bless

It is a farm of perfected imperfections

Cultivated from a garden of loving hate

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 14, 2018

Photo Credit: Google pics

PRETEND ON

Flow with the snow and alienate your rain

Giggle in shivers of winter and act coy with thy harmattan

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

You melaninos pretending to be dark albinos

In strange strange spheres
II

You are they who hold erasers of the past

Cleaning  footsteps as they go

You are they who join moves of foreign rhythms

Pretending Adowa, Agbadza, Kpanlogo and the lively others

Are sickly tunes from lands of alien apes

Soldier on, you eagles acting in butterfly tights

Model on, you frozen blocks wearing clothes of snows

Run on, you who abhor pictures of your past

Just know frogs stretch in their death

Showing their real heights

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 11, 2018

​EBONY DRAINS BUT STILL REIGNS

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

In throats are melodies which water sores of heartbreaks

A blooming voice has muted 

Pressed by deaths wicked fingers

How I wish death’s father lived in the physical

For her soul to date in his hate
II

The sensuous figure that worked so well

Driving many into an obsessive hell, fell

At the dawn of her rise

And tears are seas in loving hearts

Regrets are pools in hateful hearts

All the poison whose venom never got its fill

The sponsor whose money gave dilemma for a moral so misconstrued

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

One who reigns has been sucked in his drains
III

I know the unheard melodies ringing through strange lands

Begging for a way back to life’s shores

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

I know the grievances of an unfilled pot

Broken after a graceful bake

But you were a melody in your short visit

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

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

Sleep well little one

If the world gives other chances yonder

By all means come and complete your mission

Until then, damarifa due!

Due due ne amanehunu!

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

Photo Credit: Google Pics

POSITIVE VIBES

A flower of smiles

In a hand so warm

A massaging sun waving from miles

In a sky of no harm

Greets your morning from the land of my mind

II

The land of my mind

In which I farm happiness in weeds of strife

Throwing stumps and thorns into dungeons of past’s behind

Carving a great team to play the team of life

So create a smile without a sigh


IV

A smile with no sigh

Even if clouds blanket the waving sun

Knowing transiency is its bothersome hi

And impotency carves its tempt like fun

In a garden of your sweet scented presence

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 8, 2018

​THAT CHAOTIC FUTURE

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

Acting like a white elephant cop

Watching as beings intensely flop 

And animals, their tamed rights hop


II

There, I saw a wolf publicly loving a being

All fangs and claws in daylight are seen

All giggles of rights hailed fairly by the green

As ancestors time look in nauseating mean


III

Even dogs walked on twos

Giggling with beings in “me and yous”

And those who stumbled into public loos

Ended up seeing all furs on and in skin


IV 

What of horses who sat to date

Their past bosses in a lucky fate?

In their bitter and litter state

Their curses loudly fly in debates


V

I watch as fishes fight for their rights

To swim in air and get their share

Of the pleasures which humans share

To the creatures whose meat now act skins

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 7, 2018

​THE LAW’S UNFAIR AXE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 3, 2018.

Photo Credit: Pinterest on Google Pics.

TRAITS OF A LEADER

A knot needs fingers to be

Just as groups need a head for sanity

As the earth looks upon the sky

And the sky cries and shines upon the earth in fertility

So must the relations between a leader and the led

The leader built by positive sides of great animals


II

A leader must be a lion in serving

Fierce for roles none wants to take on

With paws for tackling its challenges

Be it shame or difficulties

A leader must be a peacock

Proud of piecing diverse heads into one

And stitching different hearts into rhythmic heartbeats

A leader must be a hen

Domesticated 

Always home or around the home of the office

Bringing all broken wings, tired legs, hurt chicks

Under its wings

Always watching out for the hawk of division

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

A leader must be a cat

Always ready to listen

Mostly holding its tongue

Mostly blinking away gossips

Which wild dogs peddle

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

A leader must be an ant

Wise in troubled waters

Looking for leaves when his army is faced with a drowning

Always honourable even in a chastisement

A leader must be a goat

Stubborn with risks

Accepting defeats with grace

And cheering wins with motivation

A leader must be a sheep

Obedient and approachable

To all no matter the emotions of approachers

A leader must be a dove

Looked upon like a star by her led

Pure in their hardworking sights

Setting examples where equations seem difficult

A leader must be as presentable as an antelope

Even in a forest of thorns

Observant like a brown snake under a brown lawn

A leader must be a horse

Never tired to trot

Even when sharp rocks stare meanly with knives to battle

A leader must a nightingale

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

A leader must be a vulture

Always picking up the dead pieces no matter how they stink

A leader must be an eagle

Whose wings never tire from flight

And strength is enough to always light teams

With eyes like that of a potent seer

Seeing the future before it happens

A leader must be the biggest tree in the desert

Always ready to house all in branches and under its skirt

A leader must be fierce like a David

Even when a Goliath chases

A leader is the donkey whose back never breaks

And the horse whose chariot is his to pull

Even through thunders and storms

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 30, 2017

​CHILD OF MINE


Baby mine

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

Life in suns and rains rhyme

So let’s let these storms, their time chime

You beautiful sun of mine


II

You were picked from the world of passion

With wishes of building for you a happy nation

Breaking backs to give you a perfect station

But life’s travel shows no future action

Hence my sorry reaction


III

I wish your ails had a walking bell

I would have sheltered you like a shell

And taken its guns regardless of its pain’s spell

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

But its talkless sneakers teamed with my unaware gel

So you innocent soul in running fell


IV

Even as these storms roar

As our needs soar

In many an eye’s tour

And many a mansion holds no door

For our weary feet to talk less of a floor

Our sethood changes not even if Satans in conventions abhor

So fight even in this poor


V

I will always you cheer

Even if tears blind in my fear

I will always your guns share

Even if ammunitions of injections and medications cost in queer

I will always stay here

Where your fists blow death’s steer

Hoping and praying for a win, my dear

But if this breaks your gear

Know you will forever be engraved here

In this heart and always be near

For this journey is of us

You and I 

And our God whose existence shakes my mythical confusions

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 2, 2017