Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 29 (18+)

Taking a bull by the horns requires a brave person who stops not to think about the consequences, a risk taker who fears not death. I called Alejandro and put it straight to him: “I found some of the cocaine on the girls. Thank you for using me to advance your drug use. It might interest you to know that one of the girls is at the hospital with tests being conducted after abusing some. So prepare as I won’t go down alone” There was a moment of silence before he cleared his throat and attempted to speak without success. “I believe you think I am foolish for sending me on this errand without a heads up right?” Immediately, I heard a protest, “No, not foolish Miss Davids. I don’t really know what you are talking about considering this is a call anyone can tap into. I only sent you with girls to model shoes, if something bad happened, I am changing your flight so come back today and let’s see what went wrong. I was simply taken aback but not fooled. Of course foreign intelligence would definitely get to know what we spoke about. What was I thinking? I felt a bit stupid but not regretful after thinking it over.
We rescheduled our flight to the next day to head back to Mexico and used the whole day to tour around few places. Nthambi rested with a home nurse Alejandro arranged. It made me see the vast nature and intense influence of the organization I was in, or should I say the drug cartel being fronted by an escort agency? I knew I had to get out but how to became my problem. I had heard stories about people being killed for wanting out of cartels like that. Though almost all the girls were oblivious to what was happening and just thought the fashion week had been cancelled, I tried my hardest to enjoy to no avail.
Going through the security checks was a hurdle for me. I got frightened at the least beep only to find out it was as a result of a phone or an ear ring or something like that. Not until we touched at the Aeropuerto Internacional Benito Juárez, did I breathe well. Alejandro did not come to see me that day and I didn’t know where to find him. It dawned on me that if I was caught in any of their shady deals, there was no way I could implicate them if I wanted. Consuelo made all my favourite dishes but my appetite was neither here nor there. I just laid in bed and called Issidro to take care of the girls as I was not feeling well. On the third day, Alejandro came with a straight face and I laid there with an equally straight face looking at him. I had not bothered to call him after the first call to tell him we had arrived safely.
“Miss Davids, this is the last time you will have a conversation like that on telephone. I was disappointed in you.” He waited for me to say something but I didn’t. I just looked at him making him fidget for a while before changing tactics. “Miss Davids, the cartel is a big business beyond you and I and there is nothing we can do about it. Do you think mere prostitution is what keeps you comfortable in this apartment? “
“Yes. I thought it was mere prostitution that kept me this comfortable. Don’t I know the amount my girls make per session and don’t I know you give them only ten percent of their earnings and pocket the remaining 90%?”
He just looked at me hard and pulled me from the bed into a standing position, my face in his face as he bowed to make it so and said amidst his drumming teeth “You will not frustrate me, you definitely will not frustrate me. You will do as I tell you to save yourself and me”. Before I could react to that he was passionately forcing a kiss on my lips, one I definitely could not reject. The force with which I yielded surprised even me. I realised I had starved myself for long. There was nothing gentle about his moves but surprisingly I loved every bit of it. He bit me anywhere he laid his mouth and every pain harvested goosebumbs on my skin. He loudly suckled my need-filled breasts and turned me aggressively over and over again, yet I enjoyed every bit of it. I was wet before he visited my temple to worship and it was pleasurable. Even he was shocked that I was enjoying myself more than him. He was a strong man and he did gain my respect although I had love bites all over my skin afterwards. “I am sorry, I mean I don’t even know what to say. You make me so afraid yet I want you so much”. I used the opportunity to tell him I wanted out of the cartel. I explained to him that I could not be in that mess. He did warn I couldn’t stay out forever but promised to let me be until I wished to and said it meant I couldn’t travel as much as other bosses as the drug business ensured more glamour and luxury than the escort business but I agreed all the same.
An emergency beep called us out in our compromising poses, two of us naked in the blanket staring Consuelo and Issidro in the face. We were needed at the Ministry of Defence. We hurried in without caring about the countenance of our subordinates, put on our clothes and headed there. One of the girls we sent there had died in the bed of the Minister through shock after he (the Minister) forced a snake into her vagina. He said he enjoyed bestial explorations in his sex escapades and so did nothing out of the ordinary. I couldn’t understand how a man felt happy seeing a snake penetrate into a woman. I stood there shivering for a while. I was furious as that was the first time I encountered that problem. I pounced on him and started hitting him, he could not shout for help, Alejandro watched for few seconds and held me, begging me to stop the nonsense…

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © March 25, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics


“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

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

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

“Not until you say please.”


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © February 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

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

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

“So miss likes women, no?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Madam, time to eat supper” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 5, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics


“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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Feb. 1, 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is your name? I asked”

By Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia

Photo Credit: Google Pics

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

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

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

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

Another took the mic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 2018

Photo Credit: Google Pics

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

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

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

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

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 13

Every leaf is priceless to its tree until it falls. It is sad how some live to brown until breakage, how some fall in their greens, taste unbearable feet, or fire, or brooms or are blown to wherever fate’s pen writes in their existence. I happen to be in that unfortunate category but with a twist of causing my own misfortune. It is true that every spittle once lived in a living body but the ground is only respected by the dead and not the living who sees a path for his feet at every glance. I was Adwoa Attaa Anobeng,  transformed to be known as Bee Davids, one who saw herself as a queen in the realm of prostitution but as a spittle outside selling the proverbial smiles. Who could blame me? Which mouth could chastise without feeling responsible for my plight? Will human attitude stop being pythons to devour goodness in the dark and straws to pose as fans in daylight? Who can, even as of now, claim to have lived happily without a touch of sex? I will tell you this today, even priests and nuns think of coitus almost all the time. Whereas some get to cheat on God physically, all cheat on him thought wise but that is not my business, hypocrisy is a business on its own. A business whose currency are emotions and blackmail. Now to the story of the day.

Coming home as a fabric seller who used herself as payment of duty to her goods was not fun at all. I needed a stall but found out I needed to climb using a staircase of sex in order to get a booking. With what I had been through, I was not interested in taking that route, so I started asking around. It was 12:30 am when we heard gunshots. Luckily, Ntwanu was in my bed. He got out, came back with the police at the baited end of a gun point. Shai came out but Mimi was out. As to what was happening, we were told we were under investigation because there have been reports of our shady “goings and comings”. Apparently, our neighbours had reported that we were only seen at night and never during the day. We were asked what we did and I sent them straight to the fabrics which sat in the guest room. After they inspected to their satisfaction, scattered in many groups, Ntwanu leading one, Shai leading another and myself leading the leader, who looked stern and disciplined, they left without taking even water from the house.

Ntwanu and I were glad to have gotten rid of them until we remembered Shai was no where to be found. We followed through to the boys quarters and realized she was raped by the group of policemen whom she led. Only God knows what they were on, the poor girl was bleeding and she had bruises all over her body. I was angry to a point of sadness. To think that policemen were supposed to be the protection of citizens. To think they were supposed to be that umbrella of peace, to think they were supposed to be our trusted force, I just didn’t know what to think. We carried her to the main house and tended to her. 

Ntwanu started behaving funny after we had taken care of Shai. All of a sudden he wanted to leave in the middle of the night. I just didn’t understand him. Tried as I did, he left but I followed him, with the help of one of our security men, whom he employed to guard us. Dressed in black and sneakers, I followed the instructions of Tai through ceilings and crooked paths until we got to the military headquarters. After we got there, we realized we had lost him amidst a little confusion. We heard some noise behind us, turned instinctively and by the time we realized, Ntwanu was gone. Tai told me he suspected Ntwanu realized we were following him but I was confused. Tai was certain he didn’t know until we got to the military headquarters and was certain that was where he intended to go. As to why, I thought about it for a long time with no ready answers. 

The next day, Tai did not turn up for work, another person replaced him and introduced himself as the new addition. When I asked Ntwanu about it, he just kissed me and made insanely passionate love to me. I forgot about my fears in my thoughts about what he was, what he had gone there to do, what he was hiding from me, what made him look that powerful on the night we followed him and how I could get the truth from the tight lipped man who professed to love me with all his heart. But he left after cuddling and I was left with the endless charter of Mimi and her many rounds of sex with an old man whose penis power was tighter than most men she had ever met. I thought she was exaggerating but did not tell her so, all that was on my mind was Ntwanu and how to demystify his new robed mystery, especially after hearing five policemen were castrated the night before.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 2017.

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 12

Fate has a way of telling us to try amidst all adversities to show justifications and or otherwise for our ways of life. I believed then that calling was nigh so I told Ms. Barwuah that I had some money to invest so needed some ideas. She introduced me to a fabric dealer in Cape Coast who always travelled to Togo for her fabrics and seemed to be quite comfortable. Her name was Aba Quaicoo. Ntwanu was happy and fully supportive of the idea. 
On our way to Togo, I saw so many beautiful places, some dry lands with poverty written all over them, some fertile lands begging to be touched and some developed places too. What caught my attention however was the policemen at the various barriers. They meticulously searched every person and his or her luggage and particulars. I thought they were supposed to prosecute offenders but they had fixed amounts these offenders without their “Yellow Cards” or passports paid to go scot free. I thought of how dangerous their acts was. Supposing some of those caught were armed robbers or terrorists, what would be the fate of this country? No one had the audacity to challenge them, lest, even passengers became word police to thrash them with words they never knew could hurt. I saw the way the officers eyed beautiful women among passengers. I just observed like an interested cat, trying to look uninterested. I was dressed like a decent Muslim, even my hair was covered so as not to attract attention.

When we finally reached our destination, I was shocked at the prices of fabrics. With just fifty cedis, I could buy cloth that could make me two hundred and fifty cedis worth of profit. I kept buying and buying until Aunt Aba told me to stop because there were duty charges on our way back. Duty charges? Well, I decided to follow her instructions and shut up. 

The vehicles that transported our goods were funny looking. They had so many hidden compartments that drivers unscrewed to hide some of our goods at a fee. I was told that was way cheaper than paying duty at the barriers on those extra. Though the officers knew every trick traders used to get their goods into Ghana for free, they chose to let go once they were bribed satisfactorily. Aunt Aba went on to tell me how some traders put on eight cloths, six jeans trousers and hide jewelleries in their private parts just to avoid paying duty charges for them. Some simply used bush roads to avoid payment completely. But the bush roads were filled with robbers who mercilessly raped, molested or killed traders, maimed or killed drivers, just to steal their goods. It was terrifying listening to all the hazards, so I just asked that we left.

The cars which carried several goods were parked in a cue waiting for inspection and payment before entry into Ghana. It was interesting how many men stood by pleading with officers who were unsympathetic toward their plight, at the same time, some women entered the officer’s office after inspection only to come back energetic with pleasure perspiration all over their bodies. Aunt Aba went before me. After thirty minutes in the officer’s office, she came back wiping her sweat and breathing faster than a hundred metre runner. I was disappointed because she wore two rings and never took them off. A part of me told me my mind was playing tricks on me, another maintained she used herself to avoid paying duty on her fabrics, but I was not in the place to judge so shut up.

“Do as you are told Adwoa so we can go early. I am waiting for you”

With that, she ushered me into the officer’s office before I had time to ask a question. There were over twenty men there. An elderly man of about 40 years of age called my name and asked me to follow him. Apparently, there were empty rooms individuals were sent to process their documents.

“I am in charge of your goods Miss, how would your mode of payment be? As it stands now, you are to pay 13, 000 cedis.”

I couldn’t hide my shock so I exclaimed:

“Ei! How much did I buy the fabrics? With transportation, it cost only around 3000 cedis.”

“You know you can pay in another way? All you need to do is to comply and I will make you pay only 500 cedis.”

Inspector Atsuvi gently stroked my cheeks, swiftly kissed my lips, made his fingers travel down my spine, down to touch my clothed clitoris. I shook with need. Somehow, I wanted to resist but didn’t have the money to pay. I just didn’t get why sex appeared as the perfect currency even in legitimate businesses. I didn’t do anything to provoke it, my dress could not attract anyone, well, that is what I thought. Before I could have time to think about it, my skirt was off, my blouse was travelling fast out through my head. I, like an obedient child lifted my hands for the smooth removal. My nipples stood at attention in my see through brazier, my veins told me I needed the man more than he needed me. 

“Part your legs”

I obeyed and put one leg on the table close by, it was then I realized I was without panties. Atsuvi went in between my thighs, sucked the dripping juices out of my vagina until I shook like an epileptic. He fingered me after, moaning with pleasure. He bended me over and entered without warning. Gosh! It was a big one judging by the way it kept swelling within me. I enjoyed it until I realized it was taking him too long to ejaculate. I had turned three times, doggied twice, sideways twice in close to an hour, yet he went on stroking and stroking. His penetrations becoming my pain. To think that even most of those who paid to have me as their prostitutes never used me as he did, filled me with anger. I pushed him off me, cleaned his dick with my panties, played with his tip in between my teeth, and put my middle finger into his anus. Just before I could count to ten, he shouted loudly and came all over the place and on me. Before we could recover, three officers entered the room, saw us and quickly, arrested Atsuvi. 

They were officers of higher rank than Atsuvi. Atsuvi, had apparently,  just returned from a three months suspension for sleeping with someone in exchange for a free pass. He kept pleading, saying I was skilled at sex so they should test me. True to his words, the three officers pushed me into a shower I had not known existed at the far right corner of the room, brought me out and started working on me. One sucked my breast, the other fingered my already sore vagina, the other planted kisses on my back. I tried to accommodate them but it wasn’t easy. One lied down and placed me on his manhood as the one on my breast went to stand behind me. The one who fingered me, held my breasts as I controlled the stroking on top of the annoying man who lay like a log with his short but huge stick hard and needy. What unnerved me was a sharp pain in my anus. I realized then that the one at my back had forcefully penetrated my anus. I cried out, made to get up but was held down by the one who was on my breast as the back stander pounded my rear without mercy. I felt sad and terrible all at once. With all my experience in prostitution, I had never had anal sex ever. To think that back virginity was broken because I was trying to do something good was beyond me. I cried and cried until many officers flooded the room. The hands that tried to close my mouth achieved nothing. The officers, obviously of lower ranks stood stupified, not knowing what to do or how to approach their supervisors. A shout sent all of them back. I collapsed from exhaustion. 

I woke up on a hospital bed at the Korlebu Hospital. I had stitches in my anus because I heard it was nearly destroyed by the anal sex. Aunt Aba apologised to me and asked that I made no case out of it. To her, my things were not charged at all and she had sent all of them to Kumasi. She had also sent for Ms. Barwuah to come and take care of me. I just asked for my phone, called Mimi and asked her politely to take her leave. After, I called Ms. Barwuah and asked her not to bother as Mimi was on her way. When Mimi arrived, she just cried at how lean I had become in just three days. I told her everything and she felt so sorry for me.

“You need to stick to our prostitution Bee. No matter where you go, men use sex to define every woman, they use sex to push us up or down, they use sex to determine our fate, they use sex to humiliate us, they define us with sex Bee, and claim sex is a man’s win. So why can’t we manipulate it to become their loss? It is good you are realizing that it is better to give it up for a fee than to give it up for free. You need to go through hell to sell those fabrics but you have paid dearly for it. Sorry darling”.

It dawned on me that she was right. I was born because of sex, I left home because of sex, I had felt immensely happy because of sex and all the pain I had felt were because of sex. I just wished there was an earth without sex, but then wondered what could be the force of conflict which would pivot the interest of living. 

I didn’t know what I felt towards Ntwanu. I knew he was not to blame for my plight but could not pick his calls for reasons I could not explain. I avoided him until he surfaced a week later at the hospital. I just told him I was molested by an officer without telling him details. He apologized and asked me to stay home, promising to take care of all my needs. I knew he had the capacity to, but just didn’t know if I would feel okay depending on a man whom I had not even thought of marrying.  I loved him but just felt odd thinking about his suggestions. I smiled at him and allowed him to hold my hands until the doctor discharged me that very day. Ntwanu had a way to make me melt. He just starred at me like I was the only thing worthy of note in the whole wide world. For a moment, I forgot all that I had been through on our way back. I just basked in his looks and enjoyed his adoration from Accra to Kumasi hoping the days ahead held better living for me.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 11

Trouble comes not without a panic hint. But humans have flappy ears in those times, chastising their minds for being drama dolls. After beating myself for what I did as a vocation, I resolved to embrace it permanently after coming to the conclusion that sex is the best currency of the world. There are some who owe it as duty to others, some who gift it in expectation of things, some who sell it for higher returns, some who use it in bidding, some who search endlessly for it and some who just live for it. “There is nothing wrong if I live to sell it and live for it at the same time” I thought.

The order came in to Mimi’s agency: The Cortar, which at face value was a pub and run our business at night. I was made a partner because I invested a lot of money in there. Three girls were needed to entertain three men in Hotel Penusky, a four star hotel, for a sum of 5000 cedis each for the night. The agency was paid ten thousand dollars just for the booking. Somehow, I wanted the money but felt weird about the whole thing. I told Mimi and Shai but they asked me to replace the pessimism with optimistic vibes. They would be damned to let that kind of money go into the pocket of the new recruits, most of whom I was not familiar with. So we set off with all our accoutrements. 

We were to stand at a coded location and be picked to Penusky. I didn’t know why because we could have gone in my car. A blue black limousine in fair shape picked us up but that is all we remember of the ride. We woke up tied with red bands on poles in a dark room as naked as the day we were born and as tired as punchbags of “wannabe boxers”.  Shai was the first to speak in the complete darkness, then Mimi murmured that she was also there. I chuckled and they both told me it would be better if the “I told you so” was aborted in the stomach of my mouth. I kept quiet and started thinking. 

For more than three hours, we were in that awkward position waiting for whatever monster hiding to come and devour us. Mimi kept telling us to be calm and that she was going to handle it. How? I did not know. The light came on immediately with no presence prior, blinding us. In came three strong men with pieces of cloths around their waist, beads with funny looking inscriptions on their arms, fresh leaves in between their lips, holding metal bowls with knives and humming some form of incantations. Thoughts of Ken flooded through my mind and drove me crazy. I was relieved there was no sign of a dog but was negatively curious as to the type of trouble that awaited.

Shai cried out and we saw all three men shivering as they looked at her. Blood was dripping from her to the cemented floor. We all realized she had premature menstration due to fear. The men rushed out and in few milliseconds, a tall looking man came for her and took her away amidst protests from all of us. I was horrified thinking about all the possibilities of cruelty that could befall her. After what seemed like a year in an hour, the same men came in again, this time, with a new girl who was as terrified as we were. They cut her forehead, chanted, pierced her ribs, placed one of the bowls beneath her so her blood could drip into, danced around her like a ritual movie gone bad and giggled in bass intermittently. After their sixth rounds, they bowed, chanted, got up and started cutting the poor girl into pieces right before our eyes. 

I was horrified but Mimi was signalling me to be calm although I thought there was nothing she could do. I thought of how Ntwanu would never know where I went, how he would never find my body, how my parents would never know how I died and the anguish that rose from my chest could blast the whole of China. The men paused after cutting the hands, legs, thighs and left breast of the poor young lady. I felt sad for the pretty girl who had been reduced to a piece of cow meat tied in self mourning. They shared her breast and started chewing in the raw. I was beside myself with grief. The girl was such a pretty girl. Fair, tall with dreamy eyes and full lips. A girl who could pass for an actress, a model or even a great consultant. This time, I saw no escape. They had taken the phone I hid on my body, and everything after we had woken up. So I know Guru would realised there was something wrong but won’t know where to look for me. Definitely, the place was far from Penusky. I didn’t know what to think. Black magic? Spiritual baths with human blood, rituals which called for blood of beautiful women? Powerful men in more power quest? I had not given those things a serious thought. I remember Mimi telling me once about it being one of the things to look out for in our field. She stressed on self protection after telling me about a girl whose vagina was severed along with her tongue and breasts after a contract like ours. The only thing her agency used in identifying her was her bracelet which fortunately was a unique one made by her boyfriend and a tattoo on her back.

They went straight to Mimi after the other lady was peeled to her bones. This time, they untied Mimi, the head of the trio inserted his fingers into her vagina, licked it, nodded, then the others held her down, propped her up and opened her woman hole for the head to penetrate. Hardly had the cloth made way for his manhood when surprisingly, Mimi started chanting and they started acting funny. Her voice kept rising and rising and they kept spinning and spinning. Then, they started shouting. Within some seconds, three strong tall men came into the room, were instructed to untie her and take her out but Mimi would not stop and the guards could not go near her. They too were spinning around like mad men. Then she suddenly stopped, ordered the only person who looked like he could stand to untie me, he did. As soon as my feet touched the floor, she started chanting again. Like a careful leopard, she advanced towards me, massaged the legs of the stupefied and horrified me in her chanting. She paused for a while and asked them where they had kept Shai, one got up and led the way spinning throughout and shouting. I followed like a sheep. I don’t know if it was out of fear or surprise.

I just couldn’t find the correlation between the power Mimi was exhibiting and her nature. Shai had been tied to a tree in the forest. We realised we were sent to a thick forest. The guy handed back to us our possessions, Mimi made him order the driver to take us back and we pushed him into the back seat to make sure it was safe. It wasn’t. He fell asleep almost immediately. So we all forced ourselves into the front as the driver, shockingly drove us back.

Apparently, we were somewhere in the Western Region. They had taken us farther than we thought. It took us six hours to reach Kumasi via the driver. I could not stop nagging through my painful tears. Shai kept chanting verses from the Qur’an and Mimi kept ordering the driver who surprisingly had a sweet temperament. We got down at the Suame Roundabout around 8pm. My legs failed to heed to my orders to stand so I sat there. Mimi called a taxi and scooped me in with the help of Shai. I did not know then if the fear I felt was due to the men and their activities or how Mimi handled them. 

When we reached home, Guru and Ntwanu were in the hall, making calls after calls. Guru’s face was so swollen like a loser of a boxer. Ntwanu embraced me and cried out:

“I thought I had lost you! I… I… I… thought I had lost you! Why didn’t you listen to me? Why did you break your promise of never going back into prostitution? Why? Why?”

He hugged me tightly and cried, most of the agency girls who were around teared up seeing the big and cruel looking man hug me tightly as he wept. I felt so bad but so relieved. We realized we had been gone for three days. When they asked us where we had been, Mimi casually said, lost in some bushes because of some chaos. I just nodded as Shai, like an agama lizard followed suit. I rushed under a hot shower after Ntwanu released me from his grips. As for Guru’s face, I heard it was a punishment from my man to him for condoning in connivance with me to lie to him. Never seen him violent, Ntwanu. Imagining him in a pain inflicting fight tired my brain, I was just glad he was there to silently rock me through the night, without needy touching, without unnecessary reprimands, without accusatory charges, in total silence while I kept thinking about the number of ladies who had died in that horrible place. My stomach churned all through the night in terror. Society, I felt, was the cruelest and unfathomable existence of mankind.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 9

We were like Siamese twins from then on. I couldn’t care less about Shai’s mild sexually transmitted disease which was scaring the boldness out of her. Neither did Mimi’s political sexing for power and recruitment for a prostitution powerhouse interest me. Ntwanu took me to many beautiful places. We went to the Koklobite Beach in Accra where we could barely keep our hands off each other. We went to the National Theatre to watch movies. Although he was a man of few words, I enjoyed his quiet presence. He held my hands and thanks to the good air condition, sweat was not a problem. He, every now and then turned to look at me, peck my forehead or cheek, and laughed with me when a scene was funny. We also shopped at the Cultural Centre and proceeded to Cape Coast, from the Walkway to the Elmina Castle. He chose to do everything for me. He fed me, bathed me, selected my clothes (such good taste), styled my hair, made me up and always dressed up like a king, my king. Even I liked my transformation in the mirror. He got a classy hotel in every city we visited and we made love; sweet passionate love, quickies which were sweet like timely snacks and when I wanted it rough, words are not enough to describe it. It was the first time I was fingered and loved it. Ntwanu’s well trimmed fingernails, his neat hands went down on me as his mouth occupied my breasts driving me into senselessness. I orgasmed without lifting a finger. It was as though his fingers opened a tap of my cum and left it on for a long time. I could have been mistaken for a epileptic judging by my long jerking, squirting and loud noise. I couldn’t believe I had lived to see me so beautiful and complete in the presence of another human being. I was even beautiful in the mirrors of his eyes.

I was very shocked that a soul as cool, classy, emphatic like that was into a cruel business like armed robbery. So I asked him. He was quiet for a while. That silence led me to tell him not to tell me if it was difficult for him to. But he shocked me by taking me into his arms, kissing me and putting my head on his chest to begin the story.

“Ever heard of the Honourable Armah Ocloo?” He asked

“Yes. Was he not the Minister of Justice eight years ago? I think I was familiar with him through the news. I think he was assassinated by some unknown men”

“He was my father” He blurted out.


I asked without intending to and apologized for it.

“Don’t apologize, just keep quiet and listen. I can’t tell you everything but I will tell you all I can. I was his only bastard son. He deceived my mother into believing he was single although he was married. My poor mother became pregnant only for him to give her money for an abortion. You know how scary abortion was at the time. So she kept the money for trade and gave birth to me. I grew up hearing nice things about my father from mum but the small village’s mouth was oozing such horrible things about him.

My mother always told me to desist from gossips and I did. When I was seven years old, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The whole Monkorono Village started shunning our company. Even my teachers asked me not to come to school again. They sacked me. Their reason, my mother was sick because she had wronged the gods and any association could be deadly. The other children told me that. To them, such sicknesses could only be punishment from the gods. The painful part, my mother’s relatives were leading the cause.

While some claimed she was a witch, others claimed the woman whose husband she stole was responsible for her plight. Even market women refused to sell us their produce and none bought anything from my mum. So we relocated to Asaaba, where nobody knew us. I sold many things, became an errand boy just to feed us and tried to buy some of her medicines but nothing worked. So she held my hands and with her little energy left, sent me to the residence of my father.

I was shocked upon seeing where and how he lived as we languished in poverty. I don’t know if I felt anger or rage. What annoyed me was my father’s insistence that I would ruin his political chances so my mother should take money and send me to wherever she pleased. Maame Asaa Esiano did not say anything to him. I was only ten years old, she shouted for his wife and told her if they sent her with her son, she would go straight to the media. That got their attention. So without heeding to my pleas for her not to leave me behind, she left.

My stepmother did not treat me badly per se. She only avoided me. She bought clothes for me, gave me weekly allowances through my driver, fed me through the maids but never so much as uttered a word to me. My father too was never home. I was enrolled into one of the best schools in Accra but was very lonely. Only my driver seemed to cheer me up. Home was prison. I hated my mother for leaving me there but was so worried about her, that I begged Ibrahim, my driver, to take me to her one Saturday. He, being the ever lovable man he was, lied about taking me to a park and took me to Asaaba. 

Our neighbours wept on seeing me. They told me how my mum died for over four days before they detected. When they saw her, she was so bloated, the men in the area had to bury her that day. Since they did not know where I was, and did not know any of our relatives, they did what they could to send her off. Ibrahim was very angry as to why they told me about what had happened in plain terms. From what I was told, she died just after returning from my father’s place. I went into the room and found many letters addressed to me. Letters telling me to be a good boy and try to grow into a responsible adult for her. Letters telling me about her love for me. How I was the only good thing God blessed her with. 

I did not eat for days and as such fell ill. I was sent to the Achimota Hospital where I spent more than three months on admission. The doctors finally told my father I was suffering from some sort of emotional stress. That was the first time he showed me some form of love. He stopped all his engagements and came to be with me for three weeks. Because I did not tell him about my mother, he guessed I was being tormented by his wife. Mrs. Agatha Ocloo fought him for having time for only me when he cared less about her girls. My father packed me up and sent me to his younger sister. Aunt Abena Ohewaa was very good to me but my father sent me to the United States to school there. I threw such a fit that he flew Ibrahim and Aunt Ohenewaa there to be with me until I turned 18. Then he forced me into the military.”

I was very close to him while I worked as a soldier but somehow, I ended up leading boys to take care of all his political enemies. Threatening them, assaulting some, even eliminating some. For the eliminations, I never participated but got to know about it later. When I realized what a pawn I was, I decided to leave my father to himself. I was not lucky. He was killed that week. I blamed myself and still do. I did not have time to even grieve, my stepmother and her three girls fought me, sent thugs after my life because my father willed everything he owned to me. Only things he left for them were the house they lived in and a fixed bank account for each of them. 

My boys kept me alive. I don’t know how we got here, but I assure you, we do not kill unless it is completely necessary. And we only attack the greedy. Truth be told, Guru leads that, I kind of help with the planning.”

I felt pity for my man. Lots of love but pity. “So what happened to your work as a soldier?”

My question got an unusual answer. He kissed me so passionately that I forgot about it. But I pushed him onto the bed, undressed him and sucked him into tears. He begged me to stop but I didn’t. I sucked his manhood hoping to suck out every pain, every torture, every blame, everything whipping his conscience from his body. I realized I wasn’t disgusted by his sperms. I gulped them down as they came in. By the time I finished, he was weeping, I looked into his eyes, took his head onto my laps and told him “love, you did nothing wrong. You are an angel placed in a bad situation by fate. Please let everything go so we can be happy”.

We both ended up weeping in the arms of each other for over an hour, and slept in the pool of our tears, glad we found each other, hoping the moment would last.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © November 2017.

Photo Credit: Google pics

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 8

Hiding suns peak at the least chance they get. It was because of this wisdom I realized there was something wrong with Guru. After having therapy sessions for good six months, I called him home one night when Mimi and Shai were out. While we watched television, I mustered courage to initiate sex. Guru jumped as though I was a live electric wire or worst, a dreadful witch. This was the man who convinced me to have therapy so I could be free. I hated the thought of therapy because I knew Ghanaians all too well. When one sees you coming from a psychologist’s office, the whole town will hear of your madness even if you are a distant relative of the therapist. Obviously, he thought me unworthy to be touched by him. I was so hurt that I didn’t understand why. He, on the other hand, felt so sorry but did not know what to say.
“It’s best you leave” I managed to say through the hurt and tears. 

Guru did leave with tears trickling down his face. He kept repeating “Ɔdɔ please don’t read unnecessary meaning into this. I don’t know what has come over me”

But how could I not read meanings into it? How could I not analyse it? I didn’t know my mind could concoct such horrid dramas and make itself a stage and be cruel enough to make me carry that theatre without others knowing. I saw myself tied like a real bitch, as Ken’s dog brutally pushed its bastard penis right through me while Guru watched in horror. After watching, swearing never to touch me again. I saw Ntwanu and Massai busily laughing at Guru that he had actually acquired a real bitch. I saw Guru swearing to them he would steer clear of me. I saw myself naked and being slept with by a dog as its owner whipped me and my lover watched on national television. I felt naked, disgustingly naked to the world. That night, sleep was banished by my cruel thoughts, from my room, talk less of blessing my bed.

If I was broken after my ordeal, I became shattered. I refrained from coming out of my room, did not open my door to anyone and stayed in bed crying like a deserted baby. Mimi, would stand and cry in front of my door, call me to at least come for food, tell me she had left food in front of the door but I did not budge. Shai would cry and cry and cry and cry but I was not touched. They took turns to work at night so there could be someone around me at all times. I heard footsteps in front of my room at night but was not moved. They told me about their sexual escapades, about the stingy men, troubled men, cool  and distant men. All the stories depressed me the more.

 After a week, my tears might have run out. Ntwanu was the one who broke into my room, opened all the windows and the door, forced me into the shower, bathed me like his little baby, bullyingly but lovingly fed me and took me to his house after. I was simply like his pupil that day. 

“I can’t let you do this to yourself anymore Bee. I have watched you fall apart, bridge all the storms in that slum.  Where is the girl who took on three men who wanted to rape her? Where is the girl who stubbornly does what her heart tells her? Where is the optimistic girl who makes hearts flutter around her? Where is she Bee? I have loved you since our first encounter but left you for Guru because you preferred him. Please stop destroying yourself.”

“I can’t let you do this to yourself anymore Bee. I have watched you fall apart, bridge all the storms in that slum.  Where is the girl who took on three men who wanted to rape her? Where is the girl who stubbornly does what her heart tells her? Where is the optimistic girl who makes hearts flutter around her? Where is she Bee? I have loved you since our first encounter but left you for Guru because you preferred him. Please stop destroying yourself.”

I looked at the hard looking man I had never taken a proper look at ever, standing in front of me and run to him. He opened his arms and I run into it. I sobbed until our mouths met in a convention of passion. I did get to know how much I missed a man’s touch. He gently held my neck with one hand and tickled my back with another as he passionately kissed me. He broke free, kissed my forehead and planted kisses from my face to the soles of my feet, kisses which germinated goose bumps on my needy skin. How he got me out of the clothes he had put on me in my house, I do not know. I did not know the new feeling of being lovingly loved in sex. If sex is an art, Ntwanu was the perfect artist. I got to know later that sex differed from lovemaking, and that what we had that day was lovemaking and not sex. He carried me into his bed and licked me. Even my clitoris clapped for the tongue which blessed her. Every licking was like an angelic wash, an angelic bathing of my dirty soul. I felt needed, I felt loved, I felt I mattered and most importantly, I felt life flowing into my living corpse. He tickled my soles and I had orgasm after orgasm, a new feeling, an out of the world feeling! Then he came up, massaged my scalp, kissed me more, sucked my breast like the gentleman he was and gave my body more kisses than it deserved. I came over and over again. And when he finally penetrated me, my unladylike vagina turned a precious Lady with a sea of moisture and gave us a swinging dance of a lifetime. I felt praised, I felt worshipped, I felt complete and beautiful. It was a precious moment which fetched a new kind of tears from the depth of my soul, tears of happiness, tears of thankfulness, tears of a new kind of hope, tears he drank from my sore eyes.

When he came, I was completely satisfied. He didn’t rush off or just lay beside me like Guru used to, he took me into his arms for few minutes, got up and cleaned me with one of  his nicely scented handkerchiefs. Once that was done, he wiped himself, took me into his arms again and this time, hummed Kojo Antwi’s “Me ne wo beye” song. Little did I know it would turn up to be such a sweet lullaby which would bring me one of the most peaceful sleeps after months of psychological and emotional torture. I thought about why I never saw this gem, why I always spoke casually to him, why I did not care about his nervousness around me, why I only saw him now. Of course I thought of Guru, why he felt disgusted with me, but deep down, I knew it was a normal feeling, a feeling of a man whose prized pet has been defiled by an animal. Looking around, I realized how organised Ntwanu was. Everything in his room was neatly arranged. He had everything a man needed at that time. His clothes were neatly arranged in his wardrobe, his shoes in perfect places beneath.  I saw class in all his choices and I was very surprised. For the first time, my heart was beating fast, very fast for a man. A man I wanted to know more. Then the song started caressing me from within. This soothing song, this soothing song of a hopeful tomorrow. Tomorrow which will be a blessed day unlike yesterday. The sun would see my face when the curtains of darkness is lifted. Well, I was completely stolen by sleep.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Chapter 9 will be posted next Saturday, 18th November, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 7

Ken stood tied like a marked cow for Salah Celebrations as I looked at the terror that danced on his dilated and almost popping out pupils. I felt ruthless and his fear made me furious. I hit him few times with the knife and cut him deeper in bits, his groans and pleas digging out satisfaction where fear dwelled. I asked Guru and Massai to beat him into a pulp and they did, Ntwanu, although tough looking, was always a softie so left the scene. I made them tie him upside down and started butchering him from his anus. His fecal matter, washed with beaten water, his shouting, lost in my furious rants. I peeled his penis ever so slowly and shoved the peels in his mouth. Removed his eyes and shoved them into his mouth, forcing him to chew. I don’t know how he died but by the time I was way into his stomach, his shrivels had stopped. Even his death gave me no satisfaction, I dug out his heart and stepped on it. Used the tip of the knife to angrily punch into what little was left of him and cut him down. With my hands and feet, I punched him until I was a mess of his blood. Guru lifted me from him pleading for my sanity. I cried hysterically through it all. 

After a while, it dawned on me that I had killed a person. A person I did not know. I could hear my mother reciting a quote from the ten commandments “Thou shall not kill” over and over again. I could see myself standing trial as hell’s mouth opened in wait for my swallow. I could see Jesus Christ crying for my loss, I could see me dying from guilt, I could see my horrible deed being replayed on giant screens at the gate of hell, I could feel rage battle guilt deep within my soul. I was just a mess, a mess of my guilt with a spice of the world’s cruelty. Instead of being happy, I was miserable! Guru took me in his arms and consoled me. He gave me a bath and rocked me like a fragile baby. He told me all would be alright but deep down, I knew something was dead inside of  me. I knew nothing is bound to come back to nomalcy. I knew, I just knew. It didn’t take long to know that that was the little innocence I had left. As I was being stolen by the whispers of sleep, I thought I heard a voice in familiar voice saying, tomorrow is another day. 

Paapa, Maame, I muttered on my way to a restless sleep in the assuring hands of Guru.

I am a human gutter
One whose mouth welcomes it all

From filthy slimes to horrid shit

Cold heating to hotty cold

Fire may burn me but my ashes slip within

Flood may overtake but my stench stays with me

From abused ears to pounding vaginas

I am, oh I am

I am a filthy human gutter”

I wrote such doomed poems for well over weeks. I hated myself, felt smaller than a chicken after seeing a dog chase one in front of our kiosk. I developed a phobia for dogs and couldn’t stand them. I wanted to go back home, to beg my parents and do their bidding but I reckoned none picks a used dress, shredded it into tatters only to return it to its owner. So I stayed. I remembered my conversation with Ntwanu after he came to visit me. He had taken a suitcase full of dollars from Ken’s place and some other valuables. They had decided to give it all to me so I could get out of the rat hole I lived in.  I became insanely angry with him. How could he ask me to get rich on the ticket of a man I had murdered? How could he suggest that to me? I was a prostitute not a murderer! I blamed Guru, I blamed Massai, I blamed Ntwanu, I blamed everyone. I even blamed Mimi for bringing me to Kumasi. Worst of all, I blamed myself. 

I blamed myself into self hatred. I couldn’t forgive me for not protecting me. I couldn’t forgive me for desecrating my very soul through my carelessness, my disrespectfulness, my defying my parents. I couldn’t forgive me for feeling like a chicken in the belly of a dog. But soon, the self pity turned into callousness and filled me with some greed scratching for a feed. I developed thick skin and decided I had done nothing wrong so would live on the cash of the man who degraded me to less than a chicken’s maimed chick. I called Ntwanu, Guru and Massai.

They were happy I was now myself. I couldn’t come to terms with being touched. I asked them to get me an apartment in a good area. I spoke to Mimi who was more than glad to move in with me. Somehow, there was another lady who had joined us. Her work name was Shai. She had been picked by Mimi after hearing her story in town. She was almost dead and left close to the train rails in Kumasi Central. Mimi picked her up and sent her to the hospital. There were many questions but she ended up well and we were able to bring her in. 

She was caught and forcefully married off to a 68 year old man to pay off the debt of her uncle. Orphaned at birth, her soldier father died before she was born, her mother died right after she was born. She became the slave to the whole household. She hated sleeping with the old man, at 17, she saw no reason to be in the hell so run away to Accra but they searched and found her, tied her up like cargo and placed her in the boot of a rickety commercial vehicle along with goods back to her husband. Shai was lucky the boot was not locked because of the many goods which left some air for her throughout the twelve hour journey to the north.  She was locked up and whipped by her uncle and branded a whore by her husband’s family on reaching “home”. They publicly bathed her with a broom to the delight of many male spectators, made sure they tested her for sexually transmitted diseases before he started sexually molesting her again. When they realized she had had enough, they made her the servant of the house once more. 

Something happened that forced her to plan to vanish from the village. The man went broke and his lazy wives looked upon her to feed the house. She was made to sell groundnuts through hawking to bring the money home. The soles of her feet cracked, she felt tired all the time and they abused her for not getting pregnant. According to them, she was preventing herself from getting pregnant. She could not tell them the man could barely make porridge in her vagina. She took off on one of the days when she went hawking. This time through another village’s vehicle travelling to Kumasi. She decided to sleep alongside the head potters outside the stores at night but was beaten, raped and physically assaulted until she collapsed. It was then that she was found by Mimi whilst many stood watching her like a new interesting movie. According to Mimi, some were cursing her that it was what she deserved, some opined she could have been a thief taught a lesson, some also were of the view that ritualists might have abused her, some were sympathetic but did not want to send her to the hospital for fear of police interrogations and all those judging her, most importantly, knew nothing about her. Ruka Abanga Suari was her original name.

Ruka’s story helped me from my pit of misery. We got an apartment in a very rich neighbourhood. I was shocked at the house Guru and his friends chose for me. A four bedroom apartment with three bath houses, a two bedroom boys quarters with a big library and an even bigger kitchen and hall. I took my learning seriously. I was improving with every single day of learning. Ms. Barwuah had grown to love me like the daughter she never had and I had grown fond of her. Through my poems, she read my mood and gave me the best of advice without judging or criticising. I sometimes felt she knew what I did for a living and disapproved but said nothing about it. The first day of staying in a proper house marked a new beginning. We ate expensive food from a restaurant and drank expensive brandy. Shai would not drink because she was a devout Muslim. I knew she would break that habit but wasn’t one to tell her. We danced to Daddy Lumba’s “Sɛ Wosee” and Kojo Antwi’s “Afrafranto” and slept on the woollen carpeted floor as I too gayly sang in no proper rhythm “Sign of Victory” by R. Kelly, perhaps for the first time in three months, looking forward to what tomorrow would bring.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Chapter 8 will be posted on Saturday, 11th Nov. 2017 

ASHAWO DIARIES (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 6

​“Some days

Some days come with their smiling suns

Some days come with their whipping suns

Some days come

Some days just come

Some days come with clouds in shrouds

Some days come with clouds besides

Some days come

Some days come”

I uncovered my love for poetry after reading from the likes of Shakespeare (though it took forever to understand few words of his work), Maya Angelou, Akosua Busia, and many others. The above was the first poem I wrote. Guru became my abled aide. He was my friend, protector and confidant. He got me the best teacher I could ever wish for. A petite but strong woman who was a teacher, a great teacher! She taught me everything, from the needed Maths to the loving Arts, I think her love for poetry greatly influenced me because of my motherly love towards her. Her name was Ms. Barwuah. It had been  a year in my independent struggle as a woman of the night. I worked at night, slept till noon, met my teacher from three to six every evening except weekends, rested for over four hours and hit the road again. I rested and dined with God on Sundays as usual.

The night existed humbly like a toddler crawling playfully around. I, on the other hand, sat on a table with my mild brandy in hand. Every sip reminding me of home and how my parents would disapprove. This particular night, I missed them for some uncanny reasons. I was fifteen, worked in half payment to my boss, slept with my friend and bodyguard for pleasure and protection and slept with unknown men for a fee. I knew my parents would kill themselves if they knew all these. I felt out of place and thought of going back to base without working.  “I would go back, back to Asuntreso when I was well to do” always ringing in my thoughts. “I would go back, back to Asuntreso with class, I would go back…”

“Hello Miss, care if I join you?”

Well, that jolted me back from my sad and determined thoughts. I looked and saw a white man standing and waiting for my permission. All thoughts of boycotting work that night vanished. I finally have the pleasure of doing a white man for crying out loud. I beckoned him to sit down. After our usual chat, he took me to his house. What seemed like a beautiful apartment in a very remote area. On reaching there, I felt something was not right. The illuminated lights and scary images of nude women, the chilly ambience and thick window curtains that seemed to be hiding some sort of monsters which promised to creep out at the next step, his shinning eyes that seemed so delighted like he has caught an easy prey and the fact that he took my bag, searched frantically through, took out my dummy phone and smashed it on the floor. I excused myself to his bathroom and called Guru (with the real phone which was fastened to my waist beads upon Guru’s suggestion after thief’s made away with my first phone) to give him directions to where I was. I left the phone on in one of his drawers and stepped back into the room after his loud call. 

When I re-entered the room, I was asked at gun point to lead into another room. Fear overwhelmed me. In the room were equipment I had never seen before. Metals hanging, a well laid bed with red and black sheets, red bulb, a huge and scary dog which would not stop barking on seeing us and pictures of women being molested. A particular picture caught my attention, a picture of a woman whose private part was being fucked with a knife by a white hand in a mess of blood. I turned to have a proper look at my client’s hand but he slapped and tied me up, stripped me naked and started whipping me brutally with a metal rod. I felt I had reached my end. Something told me I would not leave that room alive. Every pain harvested by his planting whip in me, a form of bitterness and rage. I killed him ten times over in my head while he whipped me senseless. 

After getting tired of whipping, he opened my legs to have access to my clitoris and bit into the two pleasure junction like a vampire. Then he sucked the blood that oozed to his satisfaction. He then took out a knife (which terrified me to no end) and gave me little cuts around my buttocks, cuts which let out cries of blood from my veins. I did not cry, I did not even whimper. I saw the faces of my parents through the pain and felt I had no right to shed a tear. I looked at him with hatred to his shock as he slapped and booted me, handcuffed and brutally fingered me into fisting. I could have sworn he stirred my intestines like banku at the juncture of porridge and pastehood with his huge fist powered by the stem of his hand. It was the first most brutal thing I had ever seen and felt. I realised  Mojo’s was a mere scratch. Then he untied my weak self after breaking my arms with a huge bat, tied my sore hands behind me and put me on the bed in a doggy style. He held my hair and pulled it like a non living rope needed to hold firm boxes of precious goods all the while slapping and hitting and taunting with horrible words, “Cry out bitch! Let me hear your pain! Wince you whore! Let me taste your tears!” Then he felt my eyelids, slap me hard to induce tears and licked it. He licked and bit my rear many times until I urinated on myself. I felt him drinking the urine and asking for more, something that terrified me the more. 

He raped me with his small stick, which I could barely feel after his fist while his dog barked loudly in protest of not being freed. I thought I had seen it all until he let the dog loose. The dog bit my thigh, scratched my face until it was placed in between my thighs and helped to penetrate. There, I broke down for even in my wildest dreams or nightmares, I had never heard of a dog sleeping with a human being. Watching myself in the big mirror being fucked by a dog reduced me to dust. I cried as the dog’s rod, which was bigger than its owner’s, shacked me in the longest and worst ways possible. The pain therein, lied in my shame and not the act. There I was, being degraded to a sex slave for a dog, a dog for crying out loud! All the while, Ken, as he told me he was called, kept hitting me, as he shivered, breathed heavily and orgasmed loudly in multiplications. I was devastated. I had great respect and love for white men. To me, they were flawless, all they possess were brains, money and power. I felt my ironical thoughts hitting me hard and repeatedly on my face. I saw a different aspect of my weak thoughts and remembered Shakespeare’s quote by Ms. Barwuah “There is no art to find the mind’s construction in the face”

There, I felt I had paid for every wrong I had done on earth. I was about to bite my tongue in suicide when I heard faint footsteps.  Amazing how only I heard it. I cried out louder than before because a voice in my head told me it was Guru and some of his gang members. 

“Yeah, cry louder baby! Cry louder bitch! Cry louder whore! You’re getting what you deserve baby! We have more time baby! That second hole needs a fucking baby! Mega! Fuck that thing harder!”

Ken repeatedly echoed in absolute pleasure. He was knocked from the back, the dog, Mega, was shot in the head, that was all I remember from that night. I woke up four days later in the worst state possible. Mimi was seated right next to me, her eyes a bulging red. Guru came immediately after being called. His face, a mask of worry and relief. He told me to snap out of the mood and heal because he had Ken tied, waiting for me to exact my revenge. I thought I had never heard anything so relieving. In two days, I was well, I was treated for tetanus, stitched up for the deep wounds and told I would require plastic surgery for some of the marks. I was not perturbed. 

I saw Ken tied to a pole in the junkyard beneath the cultist building. I thought to slap him at first but decided on a karma spree. I had no dog to deal with him but I sure had a knife. The shock on his face gave me every pleasure I needed. I thought to shove live fire in his anal hole, then thought it painless, I thought to cut his man thing into tiny pieces as the guys make him watch, but that too sounded too light. I stood there, as the cheeks of the sharp knife cuddle my palms, watched deeply into his eyes as they shivered in fear, his cheeks, a blushing mess, and started my game of revenge.

By: Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October, 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

Continuation will be posted on 4th November, 2017.


Business unusual (or demonic business) to praying mantises became my usual business. Sex for a fee continuously made me bolder with every section giving me the needed experience. For some queer reason, I met the best patronisers after my first bad experience for a while. Mostly no cuddling, no kissing, just lubrication and penetration or no lubrication but wicked penetration which is not surprising in this business. Where the latter is concerned, painkillers and boiled water helped a lot. Then some other local magical balms which worked wonders.

Mimi took me to our general meeting. I was really shocked to know prostitution too had an organised body. We had District Presidents, Regional Presidents and National Presidents. There were other positions: Secretaries, Financial Secretaries, etc.. and monthly dues. Apparently, being part of this body gave some form of protection. You could easily be traced in case you get into some form of trouble. You could be helped if you get into legal problems because they were well connected somehow and you would take part of their sexual workshops to upgrade yourself. They even trained members on how to defend themselves in case they needed it through fitness instructors.

I thought it was a good idea but the executives seemed to live better than most members. Their cars said it all. What was frightening too was the number of us in just one region. We were more than an incumbent party in an important rally. Mimi, after seeing my confusion told me to relax. She said we were not members yet, we were still in the application process. It took a lot to get into the group. Even within the group, there were classes. The high class who were refined and booked by important people in society (according to her, they enjoyed all the best treats), those kept under agencies, those associated to agencies, then the rest, which we were still struggling to be a part of. I was sad. Why I should struggle to be in the lowest rank when I had made up my mind to do something like this drained my enthusiasm. So I decided to be a trader instead of a prostitute. 

Mimi was livid but I cared less. With the little money I had, I bought cassava and plantain for sale. The first day was a disappointment, the second day was worse. I had not even finished selling for my capital let alone make some profit. And the freshness of my foodstuffs had waned making it unattractive to buyers. I hawked from morning to evening, only stopping to eat, drink or attend to nature’s call. 

Depression set in but I realized it was not because of the money nor my business, it was because I craved sex, wild sex. I craved the touches of Mimi and the strokes of unknown men of the night. Anytime my cravings started, I felt the wetness of my pleasure pot. As I hawked with my wares deep into the third evening of my new business, I realized I had lost my way back. Instead of calling Mimi who did not want to talk to me for direction, I went on asking for the way to the Central Capital. A young well built man decided to take me there. Before I realized what was happening, I was surrounded by three strong men in a blocked ghetto where no soul was seen besides the men. I did not have even a second to scream, they grabbed me and scattered my things, and stripped me naked. They spoke in tongues I did not understand so I knew they were not Akans. Left as naked as the day I was born, I remembered Mimi telling me to psych my mind for sex if I found myself in a rape situation so I don’t get too hurt. So I spoke out.

“You want my body? Sex? Don’t worry brothers, I would give you more than you deserve.”

They were a bit shaken but soon grabbed me once more. By now I was as wet as the first layer of mud under flood. I grabbed the manhood I could reach as the one at my back bended me over and stroked me the way I wanted, rough. I sucked it to his pleasure and jumped on it when the one from my back lost its spirit. All the while the other massaged my breast and slapped my buttocks. I controlled the tempo and massaged my clitoral gear, raining slimes to aid my speed. It was a different kind of pleasure and I exhuded a different kind of power. I finished them all in three rounds each. In the third round, each struggled to light their strength but I persisted until their sticks melted into porridge-like banku. It was as though I had this insatiable desire for sex. I was sexed in the air, held by two, sexed on one leg with the other in the air, I was sexed sideways with two cocks being swallowed at once by my hungry waist mouth and I was fingered in the right ways by my own direction. The huge men got tired. They begged for mercy and asked that we be friends. They gave me their numbers and asked that I call anytime I needed any form of help. They were Guru, Massai and Ntwanu. After they rested for a while, they helped me clean up, got me a dress and took me to base.

I forgot my selling pan because the guys gave me all they had. Two thousand one hundred cedis, more than my goods’ worth. When Mimi saw them with me, she was shaken. Apparently, they had had an encounter. The men were part of a known cult of robbers, the worst kind in the whole of Kumasi. I told her they were friends and she melted a bit from her frozen posture. After they left, I asked Mimi for forgiveness and told her I would continue the business. She was very happy and decided to give me a heads. She realized I was not so interested in it and realized I had had sex but said nothing but the looks of my little woman, which was still dripping cum. I reckoned the guys had been sex starved so had lots of porridge in their sacks. I felt the pain of some bruises down there but before I could admit, Mimi applied some balm on it and I had one peaceful sleep, even among the night clubbing of mosquitoes. She just knew the right medications for all problems with our little ladies. I was determined to make it to the top of the prostitution hierarchy if I could not get a rich husband. I resolved to invest in books and read myself to refinement. All the while a sentence kept recurring in my mind “tomorrow is another day” while I dreamt of a classy me in many luxurious treats.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

Chapter 6 will be posted on 1st November, 2017.


They say every cloud has a silver linen and I say I am that silver which gets bothered by clouds which are always forced to fall and leave me visible. Maybe I made myself so. Could it also be that God wrote my fate so is to blame? Well, let’s talk business. This business is no easy business. A business filled with more risk than that of a driver, a business with clientele the world over but workers who are harassed with illegal tags, a business that the Bible, which I was made to believe in, tells me is the only crime against my own body but a business which was soon turning into what I am, defining my every movement.  Mimi and I started a bond that terrified and excited me. She would massage, caress and smooch me into orgasm in her bid to teach me the art of seduction, which I got to know is too vast to learn in a lifetime. She would bring in a male model to suck, fuck and touch as I watched, horny (when she touched and is touched back, sucked and is licked with breast sucking and wettingly mounts or is mounted in a ride) or terrified ( when she is punished with a huge man-thing and forced to suck into gagging) or disgusted (when she swallowed cum while sucking, spittle was spat into her mouth or she was urinated upon or urinates on them etc). Maybe more than I had bargained for, but I was adjusting.

Whether it is syncing of thoughts or same likes, Mimi and I did not see ourselves working on Sundays. Mine was purely psychological. That fact that God sits on his throne every Sunday (psyched to believe that) so my parents forced me into worship, was still with me. No, was more visible than it was when I was in Asuntreso. Sundays were the only days I tried my hardest to do no wrong. I went around looking for genuine beggars to give my widow’s mite to. I read few chapters of the Bible and asked God to forgive my sins in few worded prayers and long guilty silence. Sins I knew very well I would go back to the next day. For I was the pig with mud rolling tendencies.

Mimi never liked talking about herself. I however forced why she came to be a prostitute just like me out of her. Something I wish I had not done. She was from the Upper East Region of Ghana. Her mother had left her to her father and bolted to Kumasi when she was just two years old. According to her, she grew up to hear the story of her mother and very old father as the town anthem. Her mother was young, a deal was struck between her family and her father’s family in marriage. She gave birth to her, defied her father by breaking off the marriage and secretly bolted with another man. 

Many added their twists as she grew. That her mother, Abibata, had contracted some deadly sexually transmitted disease and died. Some claimed she had been used for rituals by a man who picked her up as a prostitute. Still, others claimed she was alive but suffering from many sexually transmited diseases and out of shame, could not return home. So the whole household chores were hers to do. Fetching water for a household of over 16 to use from a far away dam, doing dishes, washing clothes, sweeping, cooking (took it up at age 8 after her paternal grandmother, who was the only one who showed her some form of love and taught her to cook, died) and running errands. She was the perfect being of abuse by members of the only family she knew. Her own father cared less about her and hated her with passion. Many said he loved her mother so much and couldn’t stand it when she run off with a younger man. His family members were worse. She was made to eat little or nothing everyday, sleep outside the house at the mercy of visitors and was never made to see the floor of any classroom. 

Mimi was first raped when she was ten years old. Her own elder brother (step) had done it. When she told her elder step mother, she had gotten the beating of her life. She recounted serving meals without kneeling because she felt pain in her abdomen as a result of the rape. Her stepmothers had insulted and physically assaulted her for disrespecting them until she fainted. It was water they threw on her in order to revive her. She told me in tears how she had used nim leaves on her private part to stop the bleeding and had proceeded to use ginger which burned like hell, all the while sitting on hot water. So she kept quiet when it happened again and again and again and accepted it as a ritual. The ritual lasted for three years and others joined in. At a point, every male that came to the house took advantage of her until she became pregnant. It was then that her life took the worse turn. By then, her father was bedridden with age. At thirteen years old, her step mothers whose sons had defiled her, ganged up to beat her up. They assaulted her like a thief until they saw her blood and packed her few clothes into a small black polythene bag and asked her out of the house to go and look for her mother.

Mimi had walked for about thirty minutes and collapsed from exhaustion, hunger, pain, sorrow and thirst. She woke up on a hospital bed. A good Samaritan had found her and sent her there. She lost her womb. To her, she did not know the importance of a womb because she had no desire to give another being a life like the one she had. The man, Joseph, was kind and took her home in his bid to help her learn a trade. Because it was a small village, her three step mothers and their sons had come to Joseph’s house to threaten him. They had accused her of witchcraft and had asked that she be sent away. When they realised he would not send her away, they reported him to the village Chief. She heard stories of Joseph taking advantage of her, inciting her to rebel, using her to defame her family and many other nasty ones which were all false. Mimi said she felt sad that her benefactor and saviour was going through such an ordeal through no fault of his so she fled when he went to work and left for Kumasi with the little savings she had made from the chop money he was giving her. She stayed with him for seven months. It was Joseph Ndiego, who taught her how to read and write the few words she knew and according to her, he was the only man who had shown her pure love without requesting anything in return. He taught her that God hears all prayers. He taught her the importance of religion and because of him, she fell in love with Christ although she was brought up a Muslim.

Mimi came to Kumasi with determination to succeed. She worked as a chop bar attendant, pure water seller and many other odd jobs but could not make ends meet. Men still took advantage of her wherever she slept. First it was in the chop bar where some men waited till all were gone and pounced on her, then in front of stores, those places were worse although payment was made to acquire a spot. Thieves also searched and took away all she had each day. When she left her wages with people, they too disappointed her by telling her stories instead of giving it back when need be. She fortunately or unfortunately met Geti, her boss, the one who introduced her into the business. She was relieved that she would be paid for something many men had gotten freely from her; sex. As to where Geti was, she told me it was a story for another day. Her real name was Fatimata Akudugu Lariba. She cried after the story and I cried with her. As we slept on the student mattress in the midst of the songs of treacherous mosquitoes who had grown resistant to mosquito coils, I realised how blessed I was to have parents who cared and I regretted living my life as an embarrassment to them. I tapped Mimi gently and repeatedly on her back and lured her to sleep all the while telling her “tomorrow is another day, the past has severed its cord from your present navel” re-echoing my father’s best proverb as I thought of my sins of covetousness which brought me into prostitution and severed me from my family.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Chapter 5 will be posted on Monday, 30th October, 2017.


The two week stay at “base” helped tremendously. I was taught the inns and outs of the place, the art of seduction (I got to know passion is neutral where gender is concerned), and how to guard against potential “harmers”. I was most importantly taught the different trades around. How I was never supposed to interfere in robbery cases, trickster jobs, how to vanish with every hint and also, how to pay policemen who got hold of me. I knew my debt was increasing. Mimi made it clear to me. I realized why she deserved the part payment she demanded. I am no coward and had discarded disloyal traits after running away from my family. Most of all, my intelligence was well known in Asuntreso, the reason my parents’ heart broke seeing me live the way I did. Mimi, my twenty five year old boss, arranged our outing. It was a pleasant Saturday night. The farther we went from our base, the better the city looked. In no time at all, I became part of the Amakom Flowers. I learnt we did not have to scout for men in just one place, there were many places to choose from. We were able to get into the club without a problem. We didn’t have to do much, our targets were all around. This time, Mimi allowed me to choose from the lot and I did. I had not discarded my idea of getting a husband instead of a client so I chose a light skinned respectable looking man. Don’t judge me. Which local girl loves not a light skinned man? He was wearing a long sleeve shirt folded to his arms and a well fitted trousers. I looked in between his thighs to be sure there was no cobra, like Mojo’s, waiting to pounce on me. And so it was that we left the place before Mimi, who had given me a new phone. It was a “yam” (Nokia 3310) but I was glad to have it. She asked that I call her if any situation arose. 


“Bee Davids” I said, my voice quivering at the very lie my tongue refused to corroborate. I always thought about the advantage of our names after Mimi introduced me to the false names. Foreign names were given the “ashawo” tags and annoyingly, the black men loved it as they loved the white women, mulattos and ironically, bleached women.

Ben turned out to be a perfect gentleman. He took me to his home, a modest two bedroom apartment. I was eager to practise what I had been taught but he took his time in making me feel at home. A drink here and there, food and we were ready. I showered again to make him know how clean I was (was becoming a ritual) and was pleased to see him lying on the bed, wrapped in a white towel, waiting. I surveyed his body to find his spots by lightly using my fingers to take a tour on his body. I caught the cave of his neck and with moist fingers, worked on it. He was pleased and aroused almost immediately. Then I tickled him to his perfect stick. I used my hand to massage it a bit, then used few drops of oil from the bottle Mimi had given to tactfully massage the ring between the crown of the stick and itself. At that point, he started screaming and came almost immediately. I was pleased with myself. He was more pleased. 

I gave him a ten minutes rest and took him in my mouth. Mildly, I stroked and sucked and licked then gently took in his sack. Seconds might not have met many minutes, when his soldier stood hard in an attentive position. He was besides himself with pleasure. I took him in once more, bathing him with my spittle and embracing him deep inside my throat to a point of gagging.  He just didn’t know what to do. I felt signs of his cumming and withdrew with my hands still at post. He screamed and squirted, went stiff and came loudly. He then begged that I let him be for a while. The while lasted the whole night. Deep down, I hoped he would ask me to stay, ask me to be his girlfriend, but he didn’t even bring up the topic. I dressed up ready to leave before he woke up. I have always been one who fear embarrassment so I did things according to proper procedures. He was as gentle as ever when he woke up and saw me and apologized for oversleeping. It was almost 5am. He gave me his card, took my number and gave me 200 cedis. I was beside myself with happiness. I had never seen such a huge sum before. He also gave me a lift to town, where I called Mimi to come for me. 

Mimi was happy about my feat. She took her hundred cedis and told me to save some money for future occurrences. She complained bitterly about her client. To her, he was simply a cantankerous man. After having his way, he refused to pay the twenty cedi charge and gave her only ten cedis for the whole night. To her, he was just wicked because he had pounded her into a porridge-like fufu all night. More than eight rounds. From a sit up to doggy, bond girl with legs apart suspended in a small corridor to a one leg up, folded leg up to side push ups. I was shocked and angry at the same time at her plight and pitied my boss but I knew it was part of the down sides of the job. Mimi asked me to keep Ben’s card well for he was a keeping client.

When we reached our base, we saw so many people crying. There had been a raid. Policemen raided the place and arrested some newbies, took so many things including money of people, weeds of sellers, cocaine of addicts and broke down some structures. Few prostitutes caught were gang raped, or rather gangbanged because it was always consensual. A fake blind trickster asked why poor people struggling to survive are subjected to ridicule and harrassment while the biggest robbers sat free in high offices flanked by their prostitutes in fridge-like environment, imprisoned in killer prized suits. He bemoaned why the fallen always got kicked. “Because they are closer to the strongest feet” I muttered to myself. Luckily, our structure stood without a dent. Mimi bought Milo with bread and eggs for us to eat. I had another long bath and went to sleep knowing after sleep lies another working day. Might be heaven, might be hell, but it certainly would be an adventure.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

Chapter 4 will be posted on Saturday, 28th October, 2017.


It was a weird ghetto. A ghetto where perfectly normal people lubricated their eyes and acted blind. A ghetto where abled bodied men and women perfected acts to make themselves dumb. A ghetto where intelligent brains worked to manipulate and dupe all for money. A ghetto where everyone learns to respect the sins of each other. It was easier to hear flying words; “Ei Ashawo! Keep it down whores!” and its counter attack “We hear you thief! Armed robbers! God is watching you!”, a chuckle comes with successor, “Ei! Listen to where the name of God is coming from! Are you sure you are not shameless?” It could go on for forever. 
The dresses that were forced on me were dresses I knew I was defiling, not raping. Thanks to my mother’s language, I knew the difference between defilement and rape. It was almost 10pm. Mimi told me I would have to give her part of every money I made so she could take care of me. I laughed within me. The Adwoa Attaa I was, knew it won’t take long for that deal to blow over. I nodded slightly and set off with her. 

I was surprised with what I saw on reaching the front of the biggest hotels I had ever seen. I realised Sokoo’s hotel was a hen coop. They called it Hotel De Pensky. It was magnificent! I saw hope where there was fear. To my surprise, Mimi told me to look at the line in front of the hotel. So many ladies dressed in like clothes stood there. Throwing themselves in the way of cars which zoomed in and out, calling themselves names. Bitches for witches, prostitutes for whores, “ashawo” for “anadwo yɛdɛ”. It was ridiculous how they insulted themselves for what they were.

“Why can’t we go in?” I impatiently asked.

Mimi laughed the sarcastic laughter which spelled out the fact that I was a novice and a village girl. “You can’t go in because it is the hotel’s policy. You need a man to take you in. In fact, even men bribe their ways to get some of us in there because they love proper dressing. That is why I have a spare. Many get us from here to other hotels or brothels if you like and we find our ways back after. Wait, let me speak to this customer”

With Mimi speaking to a nice looking silhouette in a nice car, I decided to look and listen around. 

“Ei! New Ashawo! Welcome o! Be sure not to follow that car to wherever o! That one be bad news o! Small girl who wan join big train”

I hoped they were not talking about me. Those idiots thought I would be like them, old enough to be mothers of ten, still standing in skimpy clothes trying to gain attention of men. I gave them a “think about yourself” look and looked away. Some clapped and laughed in their surprise at my behaviour, others just looked away. One lady nearly pounced on me but another restrained her. Mimi came back and pushed me into the car. I was sent to the front seat as she took the back. I realised another man was seated at the back. 

“More like it” I thought to myself. To be the owners own instead of the lifted. The introduction was short.

“This is Bee Davids, and Bee, that is Mojo. He will be your client for the night.” I had forgotten about the name change. Mimi had mentioned that even names contributed to the sex appeal. So telling everyone my name was Adwoa Attaa Anobeng would kill my career in the business before it began. I kept mute, knowing I would have to spill the beans after he asked for my hand in marriage. I had made up my mind to wait until I was almost eighteen to take him to see father. Four more years to go.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a bomb waiting to blast my stone quarry. The room was neat although the bathroom was a stinking mess. It was called Hotel Waawaa for a reason. People paid for the hours they spent there with their questionable companions. Mojo asked me to go and wash my garden and make it ready for plantation. I had washed before coming out but I complied. When I re-entered the room, I realized what a stout person he was. I was previously lost in my thoughts so I looked and I did not believe the timber that greeted my eyes. I nearly took to my heels but for the voice which reminded me of my need to succeed. I knew immediately that he would not be the best choice for a husband. Even in its harmattan season, his tree laid in the middle of his junction like a fallen timber blocking the biggest road in the world. If fear could heat a being, I would have turned burnt “chinchinga” on the stick of his fear then.

Mojo asked me to come and suck his little man. I didn’t know what to do. All the men I had known before never asked of this. Stories of women being used for rituals flooded my mind. I had to ask him why his huge manhood must enter my mouth. His cocky laughter made me cringe. “Ei! I know why I love the green horns. It is fun to teach them new things and deduct it from their wages.” He asked me to suck so he could wake to start on our deal. I didn’t know what to do. Before I could decide, he held my wig and shoved himself into my mouth, bringing me to the kneeling position. Even my mouth threatened to crack. When the monster started waking, I had to find ways of getting it out of my mouth. He then threw me on the bed, pinched my breast like a livid soldier ant and rammed his mountain into me. The shout that came out of me, surprised even me. And his hand which blocked my mouth could do nothing to stop its piercing. I had never known that much pain could exist. 

Stroke after stroke I cried but no one came to my rescue. “Let’s tone it down girl! You know you are not the only one in heaven or hell here” A voice called from beneath. After shouting and crying myself hoarse, I laid there as he continued. I had never once thought anyone could stroke for more than two hours. I must have passed out for a while, when I opened my eyes, I thought I heard a lion roar. Then I realized it was Mojo in orgasm. Even that terrified me. He had destroyed my goldmine. Who would ever feel loved working in it? Who would want to own something so destroyed? Who?

 He threw three cedis on the bed, dressed up and left. I made to move but could not bring myself to. I was paralysed from waist down. My tears might have drowned the mattress. An hour or so later, Mimi rushed into the room, saw me still nude with Mojo’s caked “porridge” on my whole body and pitied me. “That savage! I told him to go easy on you!” she cleaned me up, used a cloth she had to cover me and managed to put me on her back, all the while asking me to control myself. She gave me some painkillers and took me to our base in a hired taxi. There, she called Mojo to be sure to give the extra 17 cedis. To her, that was the minimal charge; 20 cedis where Mojo was concerned.

I could not walk for two weeks. Mimi was good to me during those times. She fed and tended to me and assured me that I could rebuild my goldmine with alum water and many other medications. All I had to do was wash it with it after sitting on hot water. She left for work at night and I battled with mosquitoes all alone. I regretted sincerely for not listening to my parents. The fear of Mojo was diminishing. I knew I would never do him again. I regretted not paying heed to what the women were saying. I resolved to make friends with them when I resumed work. Every night, I would tell myself “tomorrow is another day”.

By: Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Chapter 3 will be posted on Thursday, 26/10/2017.


I should have listened to mama when she was so painstakingly advising me. Her advice that only schooling and hardwork could sweep a pauper from the land of poverty to the land of riches might have been true, especially unlucky paupers like me. I thought Nna Adwoa Mansah’s daughter; Akua Kyerebea’s fate could also be mine. She landed a man with a big Pajaro just when she turned eighteen. So I had started early in hope of landing a better husband than hers. 

My first man was an ugly albino who had a nice Benz. I could care less about his looks, all I needed was the luxury he could afford me. Just thirteen, I had lied that I was nineteen years old, aided and abetted by my over ripe body. He took me to Sokoo Nkasie’s hotel. There, he, like the very first foundation digger of a house, dug out my virginity. I thought I had trapped him. He gave me two cedis and I showed him my house. His first and only visit was an ugly one. Mother, known to be the machete mouth of her time, pounced on him like a wounded tigress.

“Shame on you! You stupid albino! Go and learn to watch the sun and stop defiling young girls. You are interested in a thirteen year old girl who has not even managed to complete primary 6? Hoooooo! Come to my house again and I will show you why an albino is never welcomed in Kwahu Abetifi!” Agya Anobeng, my father, advised my mother not to insult people with their deformities which generated into another bout of their daily squabbles. My father hated me. He hated me for not liking school and loved that Kofi Anobeng, my younger brother, did so well in school. 

Nna Adwoa Mansah, whose enmity with my mother, Eno Anobea, was a well known sport in the Asuntreso Village, laughed her heart out. The toothless chief of the village’s promise of making me a queen gave me nightmares. His constant calling for just half rounds of sex in exchange for one cedi and his clashes with my parents made matters worse. 
“Adwoa Attaa Anobeng! Adwoa Attaa Anobeng! Why? Are you a devil sent down from my scrotum to destroy me? I believe the best daughter among your pair died, leaving a Satan like you for me!” Papa will always say. It was the only sentence mama did not disagree with him on. Teacher Baah, the class five teacher was the most annoying person I had ever met. He would lure me to the teacher’s urinal when everyone was in class, ask me to take my pant off and bend down for his okro stick to scratch itself.  When we got to class, he would pretend he did not know me. He would look away when Miss Brefo, the class six teacher chastised me for even a little thing like looking outside when she taught her English that sounded like Greek. Her worn out heels and oversized suits and loud red lipstick made her look like a painted vulture. Miss Brefo was my pain in the school no matter how good the other teachers tried to be to me. Her only son was a known thief but she always had time to be on my case. I was so suffocated that I stopped schooling altogether. Her taunts and curses of me never amounting to anything in life, buried deep within my heart.

The village complaints about what I did wrong even when I am unaware and their castigating eyes, pointing fingers, haunting chuckles when I passed by made the place too small for me to fit into. Church was a cross too heavy to carry. The pastor’s Sunday rebukes which reflected in his teachings, made me puke into my stomach over and over again. My mother still forced me there although two out of the five elders were sleeping with me for fifty pesewas each. Those bunch of hypocrites! The house also became a prison for me. “Adwoa, go and fetch water because Kofi is going to school”, “ Adwoa, sweep and prepare food for your brother to take to school”, “ Adwoa at least be a good farmer if you have decided to fall from the tree of a school as an unschooled fruit” Mother and father took turns in making these statements. Statements that threatened to dig my heart out of its enclave if I did not flee the village. And so I did. I was fourteen years old.

I followed a lady who was brought to Sokoo Nkasie’s Hotel to Kumasi. I thought I had landed an angel who would take me to a land where rich men abound like flowers, so I could pluck the one I fancied.  That was not the case. Sadly. Upon reaching my destination, I realized my village and house was way better. People were living in gutters, eating food that our dog, ehia wo a enwu, will not eat. The kiosk that welcomed me was situated close to a stinking gutter. Many skimpy clothes filled the kiosk and two small student’s mattresses laid on its crying floor. Even stepping on it brought fear of falling to my petrified mind. “This is not what I signed for! This is not what I slept with every idiot in the village who had a coin to spare for!” I cried silently within. To make matters worse, we were to pay for places of convenience.

Mimi Ranks, the lady who took me to that hovel, told me to be grateful. She told me I had gotten a place to lay my head so I should sleep while I freely could. Mimi added that I would have to pay for the hovel from the next day. She asked me not to worry, she would introduce me to her business. We ate the food she had bought, for I hid the little money left on me in my tight pantie. So I slept amidst terrifying dreams of being swallowed by all the bad things I have done, especially, not listening to my parents. But tomorrow is another day, I told myself.

Photo Credit: Google Pics

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian by Oppong Clifford Benjamin


Episode III

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story centres on a mysterious sect of young women between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The ACC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer. However, some settings in the story are real.

We hope you enjoy this episode as well as the others to come.

Despite its vastness, the temple of Ishtar was widely known for its detailed designs of the interiors and the ancient sexually inclined activities that occurred therein. Faulckman Johan, a celebrated historian, in his popular documentary on Ancient Sex among early Babylonians that earned him a world-wide recognition described the temple as ‘a dainty piece of architecture, starting from earth and thrusting the eyes of God in the heavens.’ He, however, had a lot more to say about the two columns which were placed at the entrance; ‘most substantial pillars holding in highest esteem the glory of the temple.’ According to the history of the ACC as recorded in the early chapters of Longman’s Blue Ritual of the Sex Cult, the left pillar was named after Hamamat in the 1400s. The honour was done Her after she had served as a medium through which many Egyptian kings of the time were elevated from men to gods. Put differently, the powers in the ancient mysteries were conferred on them. And that on the right was after Baba Binlawa, Hamamat’s husband, who was never seen because he always visited his wife at odd hours and also because he was not in any physical form. Rumours. Some books said he was the mysterious smoke that rose from the hollow inside of the right pillar to the high skies whenever Hamamat danced and others of a more informed guess said he was the heavy air that had the exclusive seductive power to make Hamamat reach orgasm.
Faulckman used ten minutes of the thirty five minutes video documentary to talk about the sexual discovery of Baba Binlawa. In a morning’s winter, Faulckman narrated, Hamamat stood naked at the porchway, around the right pillar and moved her hips slowly in circles, her hands thrown in the sky like a helpless prostitute, her tender breasts scored the giant pillar, she stroke her tongue about the white clay surface of the pillar. It was as if she was dancing to an erotic silent music. Linda Longman wrote that a heavy cold wind circulated Hamamat. The howl of the wind could be heard from a far, it sounded like a huge man groaning under intense pleasure.

And calmly, she would lie in the open, on the bleak concrete floor beneath the pillar, her long black legs widely spread towards the right pillar and her head towards the left, and she tucked the middle finger of her left hand in her moist vagina while the right was employed to engage her breasts in a hot self romance. In between short time intervals, she carefully removed the finger and licked it. She deliberately allowed the saliva to leak about the finger onto her flat tummy and down to her navel. She would gently restore the finger to its previous position in the vagina. And when she was at the climax of orgasm, she moaned a strange name, ‘Baba Binlawa’ Faulckman’s said in his documentary.

“Use the mat,you may be able to sleep.” Hamamat stretched his left hand to reach for the mat which stood folded in the corner over her head. She rolled it on the bare floor but sleep was not on the floor too. She just couldn’t close her eyes. She knew those scenes in her dreams,  they have been living with her since the beginning of dark that day.

Scene 1. the tattooed middle finger of  Miss Juan’s right hand floating in the warm air.

Scene 2. A tiny sleek voice luring Hamamat to lick the finger starting from the proximal to the distal.



The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story centres on a mysterious sect of young women between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The ACC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer. However, some settings in the story are real.

We hope you enjoy this episode as well as the others to come.

Episode II

Hymn No. 69

Who Will Plough My Vulva by the goddess Inanna.

My vulva, the horn
The Boat of Heaven,
Is full of eagerness like the young moon.
My untilled land lies fallow.

As for me, Inanna,
Who will plow my vulva?
Who will plow my high field?
Who will plow my wet ground?’

Stop it!
In the name of The Mother, stop!”

Miss Juan yelled. She felt the absence of the soul of the hymn. She pushed her gaze into the yellow morning sun which pussyfoot its grandeur through the concrete windows ahead of her. She quickly remembered how this particular hymn made men use their tongues to search for divinity in the vulva of glorified prostitutes in the temple and how the men blurt out feeling purified, holy and relieved of their sins in the early days. She had read about the Atonement of Sins through the art of licking the vulva too as a chapter in Linda Londart Longman’s book ‘Blue Ritual of the Sex Cult’, and wanted to return traditions and ancient usages to their rightful places in the ACC during her sovereignty as Most Perfect Chiliad.

“Our purpose here would be fruitless as it has been in the past two or so decades if we continue this languorous approach towards our sacred art.” Miss Juan cried out loud, her voice shook terribly when it hit the four walls of the sexy temple. She descended the ancient pedestal which since time immemorial stood in the east of the large hall. She directed the attention of the qadeshes assembled to certain characters impressed into the front surface of the pedestal, SIVDSPHIV.

“It’s an abbreviation. Who knows the meaning?”

Still pointing to the letters, Miss Juan asked the qadeshes while she scanned her wild eyes through the assemblage for an answer.

There were whisperings among the naked ladies, their bare breast stood horizontally upright and succulent as a result of the oil of Ishtar which they had daubed into their skins. It was a tradition among the ACC members to insert the middle finger into a lithic vagina full of oil and smear over the body concentrating on the breast’s pap before entry into the temple for any ceremony. In the old days, cow milk was used instead of the oil. The milk was a symbol of fertility. But this and many other traditions of the ACC had been relaxed either to the generational gap or the laziness of the qadeshes as Miss Juan would like to think.

After few minutes of speaking softly without the vibration of vocal cord, Louiselle knelt on her left knee, erected the right in the form a square and gave a court bow – a submissive request for permission to speak to the Most Perfect Chiliad. Louiselle was barely six months old in the cult but had shown intellectual penetration into the mysteries and secret arts of sex. She was Miss Juan’s best friend in the sisterhood. Sometimes she asked too many odd questions that narks Miss Juan; Three months after Louiselle’s initiation, she was set for her sanctification ceremony whereby the rituals required her to seduce ten men and engage five in a divine sexual intercourse. On that day, Louiselle almost lost her life after the fourth man among the five selected for sex was done with her, but the ceremony thus far would have been considered invalid if she gave up. Miss Juan was the Most Wise Lady as at the time, and the ritual allowed the Most Wise to aid a candidate in a ceremony.

Miss Juan, on that day, moved in calculated erotic steps to the centre of the circle of fire where the fifth man stood over Louiselle’s body ready to insert his rod. Miss Juan positioned her head against the black and hairy chest of the Nigerian man. The man was from a rich royal Yoruba family. It was a popular rumour among the qadeshes that Yoruba men especially their Princes had the biggest of penises and stayed in sex much longer than any man on earth. Miss Juan picked a fibril of hair on the man’s chest with her teeth; she pulled it slowly till it extirpated. She whispered softly into the man’s ears “pains begat pleasure” and knelt down before him, still fixed her gaze deep into the man’s eyes and she swallowed the 13 inches long dick in her mouth and gently held the head in between her teeth, delightfully hurting the man. “Slap me” she instructed Louiselle. “Why?” Angrily Miss Juan retorted “just slap me, I am not here for your stupid questions. Slap me very hard on the face and butts”. And when Louiselle did, Miss Juan finished the Yoruba man in five minutes in an aggressive doggie style, while Louiselle caressed Miss Juan’s G-spot with her tongue. The heavy black man groaned like a lost ghost behind the butts of Miss Juan. He carefully withdrew his dick from her juicy vagina and sprayed his semen all over the butts of Miss Juan who was passionately transferred the thermal energy of her body to Louiselle in a titillating tongue-to-tongue kiss.

“Si Invenerit Vir Dei Secreta Pubentes Herbae In Vaginam”

“And what is its English translation?” Miss Juan asked Louiselle, climbed the footstall again and sat majestically in the east from whence she presided over all meetings of the cult. On her wooden pedestal was a book which contained sacred writings, a stony miniature of an opened vagina receiving penetration from an erected penis (logo of the ACC) and an ancient gold plated metallic staff which was presented as a gift to Hamamat (the first Most Perfect Chiliad) by an Egyptian King after his apotheosis. It was well known among mystics that most men with solomonic lineage visited the temple of Ishtar to be transformed into gods the better to enable them rule their people with a degree of supernatural superiority.

Louiselle drew back her lips and revealed her teeth in a totally innocent grimace. She had a faint idea about what the Latin words meant in English, but she knew they had something to do with the paragon of men to gods.

“errm! I pray you to forgive my ignorance, Most Perfect Chiliad,”

“Si Invenerit Vir Dei Secreta Pubentes Herbae In Vaginam

Man shall be God if he found the secrets in a juicy vagina” Miss Juan said aloud, her voice sounded harsh like an insult to the ignorance of the qadeshes.

“Yes, I knew it had something to do with apotheosis”

“Will you shut it?” Louiselle reflexively covered her mouth with her palm and felt sheepish. But she was not too much affected emotionally because it was not the first time Miss Juan had been abrasive with her.

Miss Juan explicated further “The vagina possesses the natural ability to create man in the image of God via sex” She paused and swallowed saliva to lubricate his dry throat and continued “It necessarily follows that we, women, are makers of gods. Thus superior to a God by virtue of the vagina we possess. We are complex heavenly entities descended on earth to multiply gods to cover the face of earth like the sands of the shores” There was cute silence in the hall. Miss Juan raised the gold plated staff, the symbol of her authority, in the air and slammed it against the flat surface of her pedestal three sequential times to forcibly attract the attention of the gathering.

“Louiselle has proposed a special candidate for initiation into our sacred cult. The girl carries the name of the Great Mother, Hamamat and strangely, she hails from the same town our Mother derived her birth and infant nature-Bolgatanga in a west African country called Ghana” she addressed the qadeshes and later warned them “It could be the Great Mother reincarnated so I want her ceremonies of invitation and initiation perfectly conducted in spirit. And to achieve this, every one of you must start seeing herself as a superior entity to a god. Tonight is the invitation ceremony.”

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian by Oppong Clifford Benjamin

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which
focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a
divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story centres on a mysterious sect
of young women between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult
(The ACC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer. However, some settings
in the story are real.
We hope you enjoy this episode as much as the episodes to come. The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian.
Episode I.
Remembering how timid she was on the first day she came into the temple of Ishtar for her
initiation, Miss Juan Onifat smiled and held the very tip of the giant penis which welcomed her
and every visitor to the extremely dangerous, yet ineluctably romantic designs of the interior. She
heaved a heavy relief, and it echoed in the somewhat sempiternal gallery of the temple of sex and
she looked down at her shadow which was telecasted on the walls by the sun, the sun was at its
meridian. She couldn’t believe she was the Grand Architect of the Qadeshes and by virtue of the
recent ceremony she was the sacred custodian of the recherché temple and all its traditions. It
had happened too fast, she thought. She was a little above three years in the Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The ACC), and just in the morning of that day, she had been installed the Most Perfect Chiliad, an enviable position which took other ladies, between the ages of seventeen and thirty, ten or more years of hard labour in sexual affairs with hundred strange men from all the seven selected corners of the world. “Congratulations, Most Perfect Chiliad, Grand Architect of the Qadeshes, The Sacred Custodian
  • of the temple of Ishtar and all its traditions” a half dressed blond lady went down on her left
    knee and perfectly erected her right leg to form a square with the left, and gave a court bow in
    salutation to Miss Juan. In response to the cordial felicitation, Miss Juan smiled and carefully
    lifted her right hand off the statue of penis and placed it on her well shaved vagina, she in-fixed
    the middle finger into her organ for a short while and removed it, and placed the hand on the left
    shoulder of the lady who upon rising to her full length, took a short pace with her left foot
    towards her superior, bringing the right heel to the hollow of the left to form a square, she then
    lapped the wet middle finger of Miss Juan. The blond lady licked the finger like it was the best
    thing that had ever entered her mouth; a sacred licking with saliva leaking off the lips, very
    The Qadeshes (members of the cult) have a religious belief in amorously passing their tongue
    about the always wet organ of their Most Perfect Chiliad and sucking the sweet scented liquid off
    her middle finger. It was a hallowed mean of communication between them and God. And She
    who did it passionately saw the face of God, or so it was bruited.
    Stories were told of a sexy black qadesh who once visited the Heavens and had an idyllic sexual
    encounter with a celestial body believed by the qadeshes to be God. The rumours had it that the
    black lady, Hamamat, when she was only a girl of twelve years, was visited in her dream on a
    certain mid-night while she slept on a small mat, in a muddy hut at a cute arenaceous village of
    Bolgatanga, Ghana. She saw in her dream a middle finger of a white lady. Hamamat could not
    appreciate the face of her guest but she clearly recounted the sacred element; a 7.44 inches long
    middle finger which had the image of an opened vagina receiving penetration from a perfectly
    erected penis tattooed across the length of the finger, starting from the proximal to the distal
    phalanxes. It was recorded in the chapter 16 of the book Blue Rituals of The Sex Cult by Linda
    Londart Longman, a Most Perfect Chiliad of the order who reigned from 1656 to 1701 that, the
    white lady rudely ordered Hamamat to lick her tattooed middle finger like how a sexually hungry
    woman suck the hell out of a lustful penis, which Hamamat did after what seemed to be a
    struggle in the dream. And when she did, Linda Longman in her book described the process as
    nonesuch, which in modern theological philosophy is synonymous with apotheosis- the process
    of transforming a man into a god. Linda said in the Blue Rituals of the Sex Cult that, Hamamat
    after many hours of massaging the finger with her tongue, the mysterious entity who appeared in
    her dream vanished into nothingness for out of nothingness she had appeared, but Hamamat
    woke up the next day in the ancient city of Cyprus, precisely in the temple of Ishtar with no

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian.
Oppong Clifford Benjamin.
cloths to shield her nakedness from the full sight of hundred men who had their hard members
aimed at her sorry self. Such, Longman wrote in her book, was the orphic means by which we
(qadeshes) are all invited to a participation of the ancient mysteries and sacred secrets of sex.
Cyprian Louiselle, may God strengthen thy waist to fuck your way to eternal glory
So Mote It Be” the blond lady whispered into air. It was the sect’s peculiar response to a prayer.
Miss Juan blessed the blond lady, Louiselle. Louiselle made for the south side gate of the temple
and just at the threshold of the exit, Miss Juan called her name aloud, prompting her to keep the
traditional form of exiting; sitting on an erected penis carved out of batholiths rock and
positioned at each of the four exits of the temple.
Ah Huh! Before you leave, please remind me of the name of the African girl you mentioned to
me this morning
Hamamat, Most Perfect Chiliad
Hamamat!” Miss Juan exclaimed out of surprise. She read the Blue Ritual when she was the
Most Wise Lady of the cult. The Blue Ritual was only accessible by the Most Wise Lady. The
duty of the Most Wise Lady in the ACC was to write the proceedings of the Ancient Aphrodisiac
Cult in a chronological records so the history of the cult doesn’t get lost in antiquity like many
sects of the then known world. During her office as Most Wise Lady, Miss Juan seized the
opportunity to read extensively on their ancient art, the mysteries and history of having sex with
strange men in the temple and the one that caught her interest the most was the mysterious

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian.
Oppong Clifford Benjamin.
Where precisely is she from?” Her eyes were widely opened and staring at Louiselle at the far
end of the gallery.
West Africa, Ghana. In a small sandy city called Bolgatanga.
There was earsplitting silence for quite a while in the space between them.
Are you okay, Most Perfect Chiliad?”
“Get me her picture, I will prepare for her invitation”
To be continued…


The porcupine soldiers had a tough time maintaining peace at the parliament house. Before they reached the parliament, many animals had heard from their homes and had rushed there to defend their own. Over two thousand animals died. Most animal families had casualties except tortoise family. They hid in their protective shells when it got dangerous and stayed that way until the chaos went down. Blood was everywhere around the parliament house. Carnivores bit and chewed their former games to the disgust of all.

The porcupines were able to chase almost all the animals away but the carnivores and fierce omnivores took a while to leave as they ate the dead like the gluttons they were. Eventually, all the animals were sent away and the carcasses left were sent to The Palace.

The first family and their friends had a silent meat party that night. They ate and ate until they couldn’t eat anymore.

Some could not stand the air in the caves of the palace and so came out to its compound to stretch for fresh air, forgetting the state they were in. Meanwhile, the animals whose representatives and families died heard their carcasses were sent to the Palace got up early and headed there hoping to get them for burial. What met their eyes caused them to turn the Palace into a mourning ground. There, lying on the ground were many lions, hyenas, tigers and many carnivores who could hardly breathe, their bloated stomachs pregnant with satisfaction. Bones and debris of animal bodies were seen being pecked by vultures. Although the vultures fled when they saw the first badge of mourners, it didn’t do anything to appease them.

The first family got up but Catcher decided they stayed in their caves until they all left; her reason being that could give them an alibi to the shameful happening. So they stayed there until late mid-day and asked Porcupine Poku to go and tell them the first family went up into some mountains to call on the new gods to give them direction as to how to solve the current situation.

Meanwhile, Poku told them that a commission of enquiry was already up and Cruiser, Fly Flier and Beauty had been served to meet to commission as soon as they could in order to get to the bottom of the matter. He also added that anyone who saw someone in any appropriate behavior can come and file a complaint so the animal will be called and brought to book when found guilty.

Most of the animals calmed down when this was told to them and went to their homes to wait for the first family to come to lay their complaints. Few stayed back with sorrow in wait for the first family; the new head of cows, the new head of giraffes, the new head of sheep, the new head of warthogs and the mother of the head of giraffes; Necky, who perished in the chaos and was obviously lying scattered in some belly of a carnivore.

Corrector the parrot, who left immediately he sensed the first drop of blood, stood on some tree near the Palace, silently repeating the lamentations of the mourners.

Henrietta, the mother of Necky, was the most dramatic. She cried and cried and cried until she collapsed and was sent to the Palace river to be ponded into sanity. Seeing as the few mourners refused to leave, King Gyaas and his entire family, led by Catcher, exited through the palace gate to wash themselves at the Palace River and met the unconscious Henrietta being resuscitated there. Blood and all, the head of cows, who replaced Quintin, Alex, stopped in his track and saw the very blood-bathed first family of the kingdom who felt caught and could not run. The head of goats was also fetching water for Alex, when he looked back, he also saw what was not meant to be seen. Before any of them could say jack, Catcher ordered for them to be killed. Henrietta opened her eyes and closed them again when she saw how her helpers were being scattered by the first family.

Corrector saw all that had happened and flew away thinking of the safety of his life. Henrietta was helped back to the palace in her state by the first family after washing themselves clean. When those in wait saw them, they hailed them as the savior they seemed to be. Before anyone could ask where and how they got Henrietta, they said they came from the palace river and saw her helplessly lying on the shores of the river. Just then, Henrietta opened her eyes, looked critically at King Gyaas and his family and started crying as though her heart has been ripped apart.




Necky looked at King Gyaas, puzzled. He could not understand how he thought and could not say no to his request.

It is particularly because I am a father that giving you my young proves to be difficult. How on earth do I gift you my child just to save yours? There is a proverb that says; “What is good for the goose is good for the gander”. How can I with my own hands, send my child to be killed in cold blood? Not that I am being difficult, but just with your own words, please do have pity on my young too. I beg you with the humility of our new gods.

King Gyaas remembered the words of Catcher not to intimidate and further aggravate their game. He smiled as though he understood and left sadly.

King Gyaas went to tell Catcher about his ordeal and lamented how difficult her plans are proving to be.

You cannot stand in the midst of deadly ants and shake them off. What the eyes do not see, irks not. There are several ways to kill a game and you know it. An animal with strength needs no fear of wits. Think about it. No one will hold the hands of his own to gift to death. Know the routes and playgrounds of our games. Know the feeding zones and make them your hunting zone. Most importantly, know your footsteps and make them unhearable. There is nothing that we cannot get if we hunt in silence. Go into the room and see what I have for you.

Gyaas went into the room and brought a dead giraffe out.

How did you get this giraffe? Catcher? You are my sister but I am beginning to be afraid of you. Were you a man, you would have usurped my throne. Why the gods did not give me your brains, I wonder. This is not a small giraffe. A very big one. Thank you.

King Gyaas called all his young, including children of his immediate family, and fed them but before they could finish eating, Striker came in through the rear of the Palace with a huge dead antelope. Apparently, she was taught well by Catcher. His happiness knew no bounds.

The next day, head of Antelopes went to the Palace to lay a formal complaint that one of his pregnant daughters went to graze and never returned. No trace of her blood was seen anywhere. They have combed through where she grazes but there is no trace of her. Just then, Necky arrived and laid a complaint that one of his brothers went to graze and cannot be seen. Catcher came and sympathized with them. Just as Gyaas was about to speak, Catcher spoke up.

We sympathise with your plight. But since when have they not been seen?

Since yesterday.

They all replied.

Then please note that, some of our children are naughty. We all know how they love to explore. I am not saying there is no cause for worry but you all know that Jungle Kingdom is now safe. Give it time. We need at least four days in order to mount a search for them. Because then, we will know they are really missing. So do take heart and believe nothing has happened to them and trust that they will come back quite well.

With this, they all left the palace without a word.

King Gyaas looked at his sister and wondered if he was just the ceremonial king. With fear he decided Catcher should be his right hand with decision making powers.

The second parliament took place as scheduled. All the animals looked different. Those whose furs were less had much more than expected, those with less feathers had too much for flight, those with spotted skins had smooth skins, those with no whiskers had started developing them. Even Servio had to clap in his head that all the animals looked good. Something was actually going great for them. He planned to find out and report to King Gyaas as soon as possible.

Speaker Quintin started with his usual Moos and silence fell over the house as though on cue.

This is the second parliament. I now say we can start our proceedings. So what do we start with? You wanted to set rules to govern this house?

Cruiser raised his hand to start the talk.

I think we should stop playing and set our rules. There is so much going on in Jungle Kingdom and our families trust us to be their saviours.

You mean to be their voices? Corrector the Parrot chipped in.

Yes, to be their voices. If we come here to talk about unnecessary things then we are doing ourselves a great disservice.

Just then, Flier Fly flew past his ears. Cruiser used his trunk to hit him but he was too fast. Some of the animals saw this and protested.

This is grave breach of Jungle Kingdom laws. How can you use your very heavy trunk to hit a tiny anima just because you can?

Bee the Bad protested.

I saw Beauty Butterfly passing through the same route and you let it through. Is it because Flier is not as beautiful Beauty?

Cockroach Squeaker added.

Why do you little fliers always make a big deal out of nothing? If it were to be a hen who hit Flier with his wing, you would have kept quiet. Why do you always cry foul where a clean goal lie?

Bennet the rabbit said

I knew you would say that. Why do animals on all fours think themselves superior to us with wings? When the land shakes in earthquake that is when you will see that we are superior to you so now think of us as inferior now.

Before Flier could finish saying this, all those with wings flew into the air as those on fours mounted a chase. They flew down to hit and went up again. Even Cruiser could not get to them because they went too high. Not even the Moos of Quintin could stop the chaos.

Servio took to his heels after getting a wing blow from Nightingale Swag. He headed straight to the Palace and reported the matter. King Gyaas sent many porcupine soldiers to go and maintain peace and be sure to shoot anyone who will prove difficult. Also, a commission of enquiry was put together to mount an enquiry into the matter and bring the results. Those found to be guilty, according to Gyaas, will be made to pay.




Before Poku arrived in front of King Gyaas, Catcher told all the first cat family members present

“I think we must find a way of not antagonizing them further to flee. Let’s find a way of making them understand that things will change and get them to settle in comfortably. Then we can appoint the heads of all the species which are important in the kingdom to some positions. This way, they will let their guards down as we, through their heads get what we want.”

Crude was shocked at the thought of Catcher. All the others looked on like they’ve been struck by a positive lightening which has caused them to see clearly.

“You are not called Catcher for anything. You really are the best thinker this kingdom has seen”

King Gyaas commended.

“Now Poku, find a way of announcing to the whole kingdom that we are in for a fresh start. The gods of our land have embraced a new god which forces them to force us to live in harmony as herbivores. Make them understand that they are their own bosses and will not have any interference from us anymore. All they will get is our directions and goodwill.”

Poku fled with some of his men and added Dog Servio to do the work of the kingdom crier.

“Wow o wo! Wow o wo! Let all kingdom heads put their ears to the ground and hear the heartbeat of the king! He is the only king who truly thinks about his subjects. King Gyaas has seen a new god through our many gods! They call for harmony among all Kingdomers! They have warned that we live like equals or the skies will bring the knife of thunder to slash all murderers! King Gyaas loves all and calls for all Kingdomers to feel comfortable enough to settle in. The first cat family will make sure all are safe! Wo wo o wo! Stop hiding and come home! Home is where your colour blends! No foreign leaf can agree with your intestines like our own! Come home oh wo! All heads of differing animals will ascend thrones to fight for their own in a free parliament o wo!!!”

The animals who were hiding in trees, underground, in deep waters began to murmur among themselves.

“Is this true? Is this not a trap? Let’s be careful o! I think they cannot lie on the gods of the land! Who could this new god be? Maybe second chance is all the first cat family needs”

The hiding animals came out of their hiding and settled in.

The first parliament took place five days after calm returned to the kingdom. All heads of various animals represented. They realised they could not do anything because everyone was eager to talk. King Gyaas had decided not to take part of the parliament but will follow everything they say. Cruiser suggested they vote for a head of the parliament who will chair all occasions so as to bring some kind or order. All the animals agreed but did not nod for Cruiser. They nodded for the head of cows, Quintin.

Cruiser realised he was just not likeable. He had thought they did not give him the nod at first because of his size but Quintin was also big enough. He let it go with as he knew the sense of loss wanes with time. They decided to call themselves Kingdom Reps

“Hello all kingdom reps!”

All of them covered their ears. It was the head of Guinea fowls.

“I know I have a pitchy voice, but in the name of equality and Kingdom Rephood, please don’t make it too obvious. It is amazing how we cry for equality but look down on others who are unique than us. Anyway, I am glad to be part of this parliament. The first thing I need us to discuss is the way to keep the trees safe for boarding…”

Just then, Fowl Crystal cut in

“The trees? What about the land? The land is also a place for some of us to board.”

Shut up both of you! Rat Reuben said

“Underground is the most important place to talk about. Animals who live there suffer a lot when the sun sits on its throne and when the rains angrily flood, we suffer more. Aren’t we supposed to talk about how to make the underground better?”

Corrector the Parrot chipped in

“I don’t know about the sky, land and underground but are we not supposed to use formal language? Reuben, this is a noble house. How can you say “aren’t here?”

Almost all the reps nodded. Then Corrector continued.

“I think we should put all the betterment on hold until we get we set rules to govern this noble house”

Almost all the animals forgot about the previous discussions as they debated and debated about the rules fit to govern the house.

“No pitchy voice to be used to an echo level” Warthog West hid to say

“No croaky voice to be used above to an echo level” Guinea Fowl fired”

“No heavy legs must be moved more than four times in the house” Dee the Lizard said

“No unnecessary nodding should be seen in the house” Cruiser fired at Dee

All the time, Servio sat there breathing with his tongue out as though his life depends on it. His ears standing like very obedient soldiers on duty.

“Mooooooo” Quintin silenced

“The sun has travelled beyond its peak. We need to go back to our people. The parliament will now adjourn to the next five days.”

That evening, Necky the Giraffe head had a royal visitor. King Gyaas sat in front of his house.

“Dear Necky, they say when the heavens visit the earth, then there sure is the need. I am very ashamed to sit before you like this. I have a very peculiar problem. My little son is dying of blood thirst. I am not affected by the herbs we are taking but that little royal soul is dying because his system cannot digest the grass. Please, you know how difficult it is for our kind to procreate. Save my young one”

“How?” Necky queried

“Gift me one of your kind. Its mother does not need to know. All you need to do is to get it for me and I will make sure you get access to water for two weeks…









Porcupine Poku was the chief of the porcupine soldiers. He was a gallant animal with lots of spears to throw. Skilled in armoury, the entire animal kingdom feared him. Coupled with the fact that he commanded great respect among his own people and could move all the porcupines, no animal dared look him twice in the face let alone try to disrespect him. Cruiser elephant saw that no matter what happened, he had to say something in order to let the ruling king know that the land did not belong to him. He raised his trunk, occasionally stealing glances at Porcupine Poku to the dismay of all the animals. King Gyaas first looked surprised, then looked around and nodded for him to talk.

“King Gyaas, we know you are the king. A king who promised to make us all equal. I believed you when you said you would resort to chewing grass because even a huge animal like me lives on grass. Now you sit on a higher ground, watching our pates and saying we should present one of our kinds to you. Is that not a breach of promise?”

All the animals were touched but afraid for the life of Cruiser. For minutes on end, King Gyaas looked at Cruiser with no readable countenance. Then he suddenly burst out laughing.

“Cruiser, I know what I said but living the talk and talking the living are two different things. The sky is a vast unreachable land. One that no one can reach. Even Eagle was not able to reach the sky to fetch the rains. Now ask this, how is a wingless lion striving to make his land better supposed to reach those lands to fetch the rains which are hiding far beyond the fire sun? If I am to get the strength to think, to get the strength to climb trees, to get the strength to consult the gods of the sun, I need strength. You know the God who created us failed in granting us equality. I love the taste of blood no matter how small you see me to be, you love the taste of leaves although you are big and pigs love the taste of dirt although they have very fair skin. Who are we to blame for these taste buds? Who is to blame for the differences in animals? If the one who created it failed to bring fairness of lives, why do you try to let me lose favour with the ones I am working hard to save? Look at their faces, don’t they look thin to you? If sacrificing one of their kinds to me will eventually help me gain the strength to think and solve the problems of the land, why do you speak as though I am a monster trying to destroy them?

I have the strength to catch any animal and do with it as I please. Why did I call this meeting? It is out of respect, out of love, out of brotherliness, out of duty!!! So my brethren, listen not to the rants of Cruiser, one who covets the fact that I have your mandate and let us do what is right.”

Most of the animals, especially those in the cat family, clapped for King Gyaas. Others were confused as to what is going on. Cruiser did not know what to say. He was surprised to see faces metamorphose from support to hatred. King Gyaas stood there watching with satisfaction on his face. Cruiser left the parade followed by his wife and child.

“Thank you very much Gyaasmaniacs! I know we will go places with time. We will beat this famine and drought that refuses to leave our land! We will shame hunger and shame thirst! We will kill tears and gain riches! Just struggle for a little while, let’s drink in the air to wait for the sweat of the sky. I promise I will put your donations to great use. I will gain more skin to cover up, more fur to adorn this neck, and when the body is fit, I will face the sun squarely. May the gods watch over us! May God Bless us all!!”

King Gyaas left amidst the cheers and merry making.

Formida was a very quiet ant who lived on the respect of all those he lived with. His greatest virtue was his silence. He watched what had happened in Jungle Kingdom and could not believe his eyes and ears. What had happened to the reasoning of the animals? Are they giving in to the ridiculous request by the blood thirsty king? Formida could barely breathe.

“Well, they will wake up when the time comes for them to select their loved ones for the teeth of their king. What do I care? As long as I stay out of the reach of his legs, I am safe. No family member of mine is affected because we do not fall within their taste bud games”

Formida said in his head and headed off.

A week later, King Gyaas sat on his hind legs, and stood on his fore legs surrounded by his family. Many lions were there to show their support but their faces spoke volumes of their expectations. It got to midday and no animal had brought his token. Not even the stinking pigs. So he sent his porcupine warriors to go to their houses and bring their family heads to the palace. When the porcupines went, all the houses were intact but no animal soul could be smelt nearby. The only animals they could see were the birds who flew so far up upon seeing them. So the porcupines went to report this to their king. King Gyaas roared, roared and roared like a beast who has felt the fires of hell as his children and the children of his family members roared with him in hunger.

Where could they have gone? They couldn’t have gone far, Jupi, Gyaas’ wife asked. Catcher, Gyaas’ sister roared louder than Gyaas to stop him in his track.

“I told you to let us hunt secretly for the game. You refused. It was perfect when they thought we were eating grass. They were careless and so many animals could be caught at a go. And no matter how many of them went missing, they never felt like hiding from us. Now look! You decided to make a pact with our game, pact with our food! Who does not fear death? In this world, who will stand to see the death of his dear one or himself? You don’t listen to any advice! You think you are the almighty just because you got their nods to be king? Now we will all suffer. Struggling to gain the love of your food is simply ridiculous! We are carnivores, born carnivores and will die as carnivores. It is not a sin to hunt, God himself made us so but you want to behave like a hypocrite. Only those beyond the boarders do that! Pleading to their game before eating them. Why should I do that? Eating is eating no matter how the food was gotten and telling someone you will eat the person is more cruel than not telling him or her. We will all starve!”

Gyaas looked at her and looked down. He had lost the zeal to argue. He fell on all fours and hid his face.

Crude, his younger brother, roared and glared at his sister.

“King Gyaas get up! No matter what Catcher says, you are the king of Jungle Kingdom. We live to learn from our experiences. What has happened has happened. Now we just need to find a solution and move forward. The fact that their properties are all in their houses shows they are around but in hiding. What we need to do is to find a way of getting them out of their hiding places. Besides, is it easy to cross our boarders? You need someone from the out-lands in order to move from here or you will be crushed even before you reach their boundary. That desert from our boundary to theirs is a place many dare to live but risk dying before their times. I always felt bad because they could come here any time they wanted but made such a fuss when we wanted to go there. Not any more. Their restrictions are our keys to find ways of getting through to those idiots. So get out of the clothes of sadness and let’s find a way to hunt them down. Let’s hunt!”

King Gyaas saw the wisdom in what Crude said, stood up and called out:



(Image taken from


King Gyaas commanded his soldiers to fire at Watcher. The soldiers obeyed with passion, scattering Watcher like dried leaf grinded into dust. Ntat shivered and barely managed to cage her cry of disgust and disappointment. We must live in harmony indeed! She thought. We are all together as one indeed! Her thoughts made her weep within but she crawled out of the porcupine killer and made her way out of The Palace before Gyaas could calm down. Steam was coming out of his nostrils and mouth as he puffed like one who just fought and conquered multitudes of enemies. His eyes shone in victory and still had lasers of intentions to extinct his enemies. His family looked on without batting an eye. The porcupines who felt bad for scattering Watcher wore uncertain countenances which were cleared after the spears of warning which were clearly sent from the pupils of King Gyaas which was obviously fully dilated.

Ntat did not know what to make of the information and what was seen. She dug a hole and hid in it for some time before making it to her family. When she told her mother about what had happened, her mother told her father and together, they went to the head of ant to lodge a complaint. The head of ant furiously went to see King Gyaas. No one knew what was discussed but before everyone knew what was happening, the head of ants, Archer, owned one hundred anthills filled with foods that could feed thousands of ants for over ten years in river areas. Ntat and her family disappeared from the Jungle kingdom but an interesting thing happened; Archer’s wife, Armaah, and their children also disappeared. Armaah’s description was on the lips of all the animals. Archer searched frantically for his family without success. So rich he had become materialistically, but very poor in relations, so he begun to drink.

Meanwhile all the animals were yet to see the improvement they were promised. Some complained but did not have the bravery to say it to the face of the king. There was a rumour walking the length and breadth of Jungle Kingdom that Watcher was murdered by the king for saying something he was not supposed to say causing his family to flee from Jungle Kingdom. Animals who fell within the game zones of carnivores got missing day after day. The Palace took reports but did nothing about them.

Famine and drought became more serious than they had ever experienced. Some animals were bold enough to march to The Palace to send their grievances but were beaten to a pulp. Later that day, Lion Gyaas scheduled a meeting for the next three days. All animals in the jungle were supposed to make it or face sanctions. The animals did not know what to make of this.

“Is he now ordering us when he promised to be our equals?” Goat Owar asked

The head of domestic cats; Silio, just blinked in confusion but before anyone could say jack dog exclaimed:

“Ei! So you are here bleating foul things about our king? This one, barking alone won’t help, it must be followed by a formal report”

So saying, dog left for The Palace but no one will grant him entry. So Dog Servio went back to his house, took a bath and went back there, saying he wanted to be the humble servant of the king. His family and himself.

King Gyaas was happy, at least he had animals who willingly offered their services. The king granted Servio an audience and was angrily pleased with him.

Silio and Owar were arrested and sent to King Gyaas at midnight. It was then that Bat Bright understood what Watcher said. He had seen them hunt for animals in the night but had never seen them take two different animals of the day from their fence and boarding at night. What was he to make of this? He knew so well that Watcher was murdered because he voiced out what he saw. Was he ready to be arrested and torn apart like Watcher?

The families of Silio and Owar followed them to the Palace but were left in front of the gate. The king who sat on the skin of an elephant had dogs kneeling by his side. Immediately he saw Silio and Owar, he walked menacingly on all fours and slapped them in turns with his paws. Their skins cried with blood as their bodies shook.

“So you Goa  had the impudence to speak ill of me? And you cat, nature made us alike no matter your small frame. We are in the same circles but you decided to eat grass and mix it with any meat you get. That does not make us different. Because dog here says you said nothing, I will contain it. But he did also say he saw your face, and you agreed with what that idiotic goat said. I know no matter what I say, you will not open your mouth to mew. The fact that you are not looking at me with disdain and are shivering is enough. Goat will be used to appease me. And you must leave Jungle Kigdom before sunset, with your immediate family, or face my wrath”

Dog barked in concurrence the whole time, even to the disdain of the porcupine soldiers. Silio said in his head “So this is how stooges look?” and watched dog as much as he could before leaving the palace.

He heard goat scream loudly as he got to the main door and heard the exciting cravings of the little lions as their parents broke into the bones of Owar.

When he stepped out, he told the two families what had transpired, apologized to the family of Owar and asked his immediate family to prepare to set off. Owar’s family bleated so much that the porcupines came out and shot at them. Sileo stood on a rock and looked down one last time as the carcasses of Owar’s family were being dragged into the palace and jumped to lead his family out of Jungle Kingdom.

The next day, all animals in the Jungle Kingdom converged in front of the palace. Porcupines could be seen everywhere. Even hyenas and most of the high classed carnivores were seated on a mounted bamboo platform as King Gyaas took his time to dress. Nightingales and other sweet voiced animals sang melodious tunes in praise of King Gyaas as the birds with stronger feathers fanned the people seated at the high table. Foods could be seen there while the skinny physiques of all animals, including elephants graced the animal crowd. The sun also sat on its highest spot, throwing heat into the animal kingdom. Suddenly, all animals were asked to stand up and welcome their king. Something everyone did even before questioning in their heads. Guy giraffe was shocked that after all the time he took to dress, King Gyaas looked as mean as an angry mad cow but he was careful to keep this to himself as the cows sat next to him.

King Gyaas sat on the most beautiful part of the high table flanked by his peers. The high table was decorated with flowers with scents so pleasant. Most of the animals were confused. What are flowers to a lion? But all they could do was murmur. Then he sat on his hind legs and addressed the standing crowd:

“To begin, I will tell you I will not tolerate it if any of you speak ill of me. To the cats, I say, Cat Silio and his family have been banished from Jungle Kingdom for betraying the king of your land. Goat Owar and his family lost their lives for committing treason. Well, Owl Watcher too. That I am your king does not give you the right to malign me. You all know that it is difficult to come by water nowadays because of the weather. I did all that I could to boost the water levels but it just dawned on me that I am no God. So the palace is in a water crisis. For your king to think and think well, he needs food and water. Due to the grass I have been taking, my furs are growing thin. There is nothing I can do right now but to go back to carnivorism. Herbivorism, no matter how appropriate, is not for my kind. I think words are best said but deeds grant us the opportunity to experience what is workable and what is not. Honesty is better than dishonesty. So please understand me and help me live instead of dying. I do not want you to grumble so to be fair, all animals within my game zone will present one of their kinds to The Palace every one working week. I will try my hardest to dwell on this as I think through ways to get us the fertile land we need.”

The animals grumbled loudly but were shut up following the scary scares of the arrows of the fearsome porcupines.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


(Image taken from


From today, February 13, 2016, I start a weekly series titled Jubilation of Onomatopoeiaisms. on amoafowaa,com This story will be continued every Saturday until it ends. Please do follow the thrills. You don’t want to miss this

Once upon the time, King Eagle was the king of the Jungle Kingdom. The animals became thirsty as drought brought its royal stool to their lands and became comfortable striking the skins of their land which rebelled by ceasing to grow seeds and plants it was given to keep the cycle of life active. Then it dawned on the entire kingdom that eagle seldom stays in the jungle. Even his family lived in a very tall tree far away. He comes to the jungle to give orders and to take any animal it deemed fit for his family. Then leaves without a care as to whether there is water or the animals are safe. He never adjudicates matters and cares not for the vulnerable in the kingdom. So the animals met in his absence to talk about impeaching him for a more competent one. Then, a penguin had travelled all the way from Madagascar to Jungle Kingdom and educated them on democracy. Penguin however told them a ruler must be very intelligent, eloquent, friendly with a sense of duty in order to rule their kingdom into success.

Goat raised his hind legs to be nominated but none acknowledged him. Many are those who castigated him saying “look at that naughty and stubborn soul on all fours seeking to be our ruler” after chuckling noisily.  Peacock raised her feathers and drew the attention of all to nominate her. Some animals laughed while others angrily blurted out “How dare she? Does she think we are playing a feminine game here? To think she is one of the proudest animals in the jungle. What can she do for us? Does she think we will be satisfied just by looking at her feathers?” Then an elephant; Osonde, raised his hand, all the animals looked at him like a haunting vampire. Some shouted in their heads “Do we wish to be stepped upon?” But none was brave enough to say it out  loud. Seeing the looks on the faces of the animals, he quietly but sadly lowered his hand. Many animals expressed their desire to step in the shoes of Eagle but were not supported. There were meetings upon meetings to ascertain the head that best fits the crown.

Three animals nominated Dove Dearie but the carnivores were not in support of the decision. They said they would be victimised if the pure Dove became the king of the Jungle Kingdom. Then two people selected Tiger Osebom which nearly caused commotion at the meeting. Herbivores complained bitterly that they would never feel protected having such king.

All the while, Lion Gyaas looked on and hatched a plan to be the winning candidate. While the meeting was ongoing, he stole bits and pieces from many animals. Different feathers from different birds, different skins of many animals, even pigs, struggled to cut many shells from many animals including one tortoise. Lion Gyaas decorated himself with all his stolen goods and looked like bits and pieces of all animals put together. On their last meeting for nomination, he stood in front of them, his skin totally lost beneath his apparel, and spoke thus:

“The Jungle Kingdom deserves better! I say the jungle kingdom deserves better!” 

The kingdom became as quiet as a treeless cemetery. All ears standing at attention to listen to the fresh voice filled with hope.

“We need to see each other as ourselves. Dogs are no different from the Nightingales although the former walk on all fours and the latter fly. Horses are no different from Lions although they differ in personalities; the former loving servitude, the latter loving freedom in wildness. The lizard is no different from the snake. In effect, we are all equal. We need to think alike, love each other in order to improve this kingdom. For all we know, the blood of different animals who were not allowed to finish their lifespan could be the cause of our woes”

All the animals clapped as some whistled. Some chirped noisily in agreement, some barked deeply from their throats, some hooted like royal drums, some hissed. It was a jubilation of onomatopoeiaisms.

Lion Gyaas continued:

“I stand before you as your brother, your father, your cousins, your family, your husband, your comrade, your friend, your defender, your protector and your ever submissive servant. I promise there will be no discrimination if you give me your nod to climb our royal stool. It is good that every soul here has a neck. A nod of a head for me is peace and growth. Penguin said “it gets lonely at the top” is a famous saying where he came from. I assure you that cannot work here as there is none to sit on the ground. Every one of us will be at the top”

More applause from the kingdom. If smiles and laughter could tear mouths, all mouths in the kingdom would have been shredded like weak rags as lion continued to woo.

“Just give me the nod dear Pigs, give me your nod dear Porcupines, give me your nod dear Sheep, give me your nod dear Dogs, give me your nod dear Fowls, give me your nod dear Ants, give me your nod, dear Swans and do tell sweet Fishes in the seas to help with their nods. I cannot mention all your names but I have them all written on my heart. I will not only take care of those on land and in the air, but work to boost the water levels of seas and rivers and make them comfortable. A nod for me will be an eternal freedom and protection. A nod from me will be a beauteous harmony in living, a nod from me will be an astounding lasting of breathes, a nod for me is your will which will culminate into your reward of living like the royals you are. “None Eats None” is my motto. Farming and adjusting our palates to plants and weeds is what I aim for. You all know how difficult it is for someone like me to live like that but I will live through it because of the love I have for you. Look at me, don’t you see all of you in this little me?”

More applause from the animals who were overwhelmed by the words they so desired and were receiving from Lion Gyaas. Just when Lion Gyaas was about to crown his words to dismiss the meeting until the Nodding Day, Eagle came in all his glory and strength to ask what was happening. Hardly had he touched the ground than thousands of animals pounced on him to kill him in cold blood. Every animal, except sheep, stepped on his carcass. As some spit on him, others defecated on him, some booted him until a dragon burned him with his lighted fire and burned him to ashes. More jubilation and applause followed.

“On this note, I have nothing to say. You see how our coming together has given us our first victory? We are now free from Eagle. As far as we are concerned, his family is nowhere near and can’t even trace their roots. So let’s consult our tree pillows, stone pillows, land pillows, water pillows, leaves pillows and take a wise decision on the Nodding Day slated for next week. Until then, may the gods of our ancestors bless us, the ghosts of all who died unfairly shape our thoughts. Thank you all.” Lion Gyaas concluded.

The animals dispersed. Little animals walking with shoulders raised, eyeing their predators with eyes filled with the message “We are all almost equal, Lion is our dream come true, our protector, our God, erase all thoughts of cravings of us, we won’t be your foods no more, pick not on us”. Some of the carnivores started thinking about the intensity of the implication that they must turn herbivores. The disdain and daring in the eyes of their “dishes” made their stomachs grumble. Yes, the shouting had made them hungry but the words of Lion Gyaas made it impossible to hunt in broad daylight in front of all eyes.



Kyei Maame, please stop bragging
Stop bragging about the great goat you keep tamed
I know what it does
And I even know what Osofo Maame’s goat does too
No matter the fur of goodness it preaches

As soon as it clears your bowl
It goes sniffing
Licking any bowl it sees
No matter how filthy
As for Osofo Maame’s goat
It spies before sniffing bowls in dark places
Shunning those in visibility
So stop bragging

If I need a goat
I can have a whole breed
And may have a few which may be sanely dedicated
I don’t need the sneaky ugly ones you brag of
So direct your bragging
Into a secretive hole
One you can seal with stone
When your goats are caught like thieves
Stealing from other bowls
I need not hear these
For I can’t stand your hiding eyeballs
When the scandal breaks
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015













Atia looked at Babatunde who seem drunk  and can’t believe his ears.

“So a corpse you kept sat down when the funeral workers touched her, and because of this you think you have seen it all? Baba, you really must be drunk. That you live a miserable life does not mean you have seen worse than us.”

Koto sat straight and looked at his peers and says:

“Guys cool down, what have you Atia seen that I have not seen?”

Atia sits straight and says “You really know how to push peoples buttons. Koto you think we do not know that you were sleeping with a fresh dead girl when she opened her eyes and the coward that you are, you took to your heels never going there again?”

Koto drinks all his hard liquor at a go and pulls long at his cigarette trying desperately to hide his face in shame. All who are gathered shout in unison “So it is true?”

They resolve that Tunde tells his version of the story. He tells it thus:

“I was a child of fourteen when my father died. He was a mortuary man at Kran Hospital. He came home one day and said someone had slapped him. According to him, they brought the corpse which was a royal corpse for him to take care of. He flung it back and forth after three days in order to prepare to put it in the fridge for preservation. But before he realised what was happening the corpse got up and slapped him shouting ‘How dare you treat me with disrespect?’ He ran home straight to tell me and died afterwards. I decided there and then to become a mortuary man too. But I swore to get a third eye in order to combat any dead spirit who would dare challenge me. And I’ve had plenty of challenges. Just last night, I saw one of the corpses dress up after getting up, go out for about three hours and come back to lie dead again. Of course I said nothing.  I respect them so whenever I am going there, I knock and so they respect me in return. I slapped one who opened his eyes during a post-mortem and he returned back to his death.”

“And you are making noise that it is a big deal?” Atia asked disappointed. Because of his utterances, the others ask him to tell them his version of mortuary horrors and he goes on thus:

“One day, I went to work and just opened the door to meet a party at the mortuary. There was liquor in abundance, cigarettes too and music and they were dancing and partying like never before. I was lost in thought for a while but when I came back to my senses, I made to run after shouting in fear, immediately, the music stopped and they all turned to look at me. That is all I remember. I woke up the next day on a hospital bed. The day mortuary man saw me in my collapsed state in front of the gate. I remembered what caused that and never went to work again after I was discharged from the hospital.”

Kwashiga shivers at the thought and says ” Now that is something scary. I guess I have been lucky, one corpse only spat on me probably to show its disgust for my touching it. African corpses must be handled with care I guess. Now lets change the subject and think straight.”

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014 with inspiration from The superior female teachers of TAMASCO.



Askimo sits on the wall dejected, what in God’s name just happened? Did Selina just sleep with him and sack him out of her house? He of all people? God’s gift to women like him? Considering the many women who will die to have him in their beds forever, he thinks back. All the women he had slept with, were grateful, some said he was huge, others just loved his manliness. Could it be that he is getting smaller? No, if anything, he should be bigger. Did he do anything to displease Selina? He sniffs his armpit, there is no foul smell. What could it be? I must ask what happened or I will not be able to get any sleep.

Could it be that Selina is a man eater? Talking about that, who is a man eater? Some way somehow, this lady has made him doubt himself for the first time. He has made his decision, he will not go there again. He will wait for her to come to her senses and beg him for his forgiveness, then he will deal drastically with her by playing hard to get for a long time. It is men who use and dump women and not the other way round.

At home, sleep eludes him, he counts the contours of the ceiling the whole night and looks like a ghost in the morning. His landlady cannot get why he looks horrible when he slept early. Still no sign of Selina’s call.

He thinks back to how he met her.

He was caught between two women at the hotel Selina works at. She separated the ladies who were busily fighting as he took to his heels. Unfortunately for him, he had left his phone and had to go by later to pick it up. It was then that he realised how attractive Selina was. He hit on her and she calmly allowed it. He kept in constant touch through calling and messaging and sometimes, sent her interesting meals and flowers. He took her out once, she did not allow him to enter her room, the second time, she initiated the sex and rode him like a donkey but as soon as it was over, his cuddling advances were overturned as his clothes were given to him and the door was opened for his passing.

Now that he thinks about it, could it be that she wants to avenge the girls who fought? Or could it be that she is a married woman? She doesn’t wear any ring, no, there must be something to it. Could it be that she intentionally lured him to give him some sexually transmitted disease? Could she be a wicked mermaid? What at all could it be for him to feel used and trashy like this?

Akua cuts into his thoughts but he is clearly not interested. He keeps her around because she has money but for some reason, her presence irritates him today. He dismisses her and goes inside to sleep more.

Koboo feels strange. Askimo has never been absent from work let alone skip a clubbing, it has been three weeks. He goes to his house to find him in such a bad state. His fever is very high, it gets him thinking about ebola a bit, silly him, ebola has not reached Ghana yet. He sends him to the hospital and realises he is under grave stress and has traces of malaria in his blood stream. Many girls visit him but he just wishes to see Selina. He finally confesses to his friend that he thinks he is in love with a man eater and narrates his ordeal.

Koboo tells him Selina is a lost one. Some women call themselves modern women and will not stand to be used. It seems she is the type that aims to take hearts of men from their enclaves and squash them under his feet to teach men some lessons. “What am I to do?” Askimo asks.

“Nothing, but I hope you don’t want to die because of a woman, she may not even be pretty. Just get well soon, you’ll get better women to bash”

“The problem is that I don’t want any woman but her” Askimo squeeks

Koboo is left with nothing to do but to ask for the directions to Selina’s house to plead with her to visit his friend. Selina just puffs after hearing what he has to say and closes her door. He calls her on phone and she says:

  “How many times has your friend broken hearts? What he is feeling is nothing compared to what happen to women he dumps everyday. Tell him to nurse his wounds and stop behaving like a boy who has lost his new toy, and don’t you dare call my line again. He likes playing, now the tables are turned and he has been played. If I see him anywhere around me, I’ll get a restraining order” Then she cuts the line.

Koboo is shocked at what he is hearing. What at all is this? Who is this girl? She is the most horrible punisher of men God has created. What is his friend to do? The table has turned, the heartbreaker now has the most shattered heart and knows not how to mend it.

Seeing a strong and happy man turn into a chicken scares the hell out of him. God will surely punish this Selina girl.

It has been eight years and Askimo still cannot get over the heartbreak. He is truly repentant. He never knew how serious and painful broken heart was, he would never have hurt any of the girls he had badly toyed with and would probably be with the love of his life by now. It is unfortunate how time never retracts its steps.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014


  Kwansema sits in front of her father’s house, thinking about her life. Her brothers are all in school studying for their future while she sits idly waiting for the sun to go down to prepare the evening meal. It is strange how she feels wronged. She wants to be a president one day. She has always been honest about that. Her father only laughs when she mentions it saying:

   “You probably meant the wife of the president, oh Araba, prepare your daughter well for the throne of the first lady” then he will laugh it off with his usual sarcastic laughter sometimes with happy tears flowing down his face.

The only thing the man has done for her pertaining to education is giving her the basic education which cost nothing. After her junior high education, he insisted “the man is the head of the wife” so there was no need to take her to the secondary school although she had the best results among the four children who completed that year and was the youngest. Her father had maintained those were the words of the Bible, who is he to dispute that? Isn’t Araba a Christian? Did she want to disrespect him to a point of disobeying the word of God? Even without the codification in the Bible, who is interested in throwing money into another man’s bank account? Kwansema will surely get married and send her riches to another man’s family, then who loses? Auntie Araba kept quiet and sympathetically looked at her. That look on her mother’s face said a few pregnant sentences which keep breeding many heart breaking conclusions in her head:

   “Sorry Kwansema, I tried, but your father did not write the Bible so there is nothing we can do. Just be obedient and help in the house chores, so you can be a good wife in the near future.”

Something in her sounded an alarm; it is going to be a warlike hurdle to breach, her quest for education.

It’s been two years but she still believes she will achieve her goals. She reads the books the boys leave behind before going to school, one of her cousins is gracious enough to explain things she finds difficult. Somehow, a pestering voice lingers, asking her what she needs all the knowledge for if she has no certificate to show for it in the end.

Yes, the reality of qualifications and certificates!

  “Is everything all right? I’ve been calling you for the past minute why? Are you on another planet?”

This is Kwadwo, her best friend. Her father has never understood their friendship;

“Fire and gun powder can never be friends.”  He’ll always say, but their friendship has grown from strength to strength. Mr. Bentil on a second thought decided to let them be and rather scrutinize them under his spotless lenses. Her father has done many funny things in the past. When she was ten years old, Kwadwo who was eleven then had come to call her to go for the Ogua Festival, little did they know that Mr. Bentil was following with a double barrel gun. When they got tired, they bought a coconut each and went to sit under a secluded tree to drink. While there, they spoke about school, funny characters in class, before they both could laugh off a very funny joke, Mr. Bentil fell flat on his face between them. He was on the tree. As to whether he was there before they went there or climbed it after they went to sit there, till date she cannot tell. She has never forgotten that. The man broke an arm, could not lift his head for a few days so one would think he had learnt his lesson. He staged a few other comic reliefs which must be left for later.

Kwadwo is saying no need to feel too sad about the school thing. He knows any time she sits like this then she is thinking about her schooling. He has news that will really make her happy. There is an NGO in town called Female Education and Rights (FER), they help girls who want to go to school. He is just coming from school; they announced it there so he decided to come take her there before going home. She should just take her results and freshen up.

The FER office is cozy. Everyone there tries so hard to be friendly while looking for ways to disqualify girls with good background who lie for the sake of scholarship. Kwansema tells them her father is not poor, he just has his strong beliefs which he strongly lives by and nothing can change those. One of it is not wasting money on a girl’s education. She is his only girl so he is probably looking forward to a day his Bible will give him permission to drink schnapps; her engagement day.

The patron of FER, Mrs Dadson, laughs so hard she could barely manage to stand but Kwanseman and Kwadwo do not know what is amusing her. Could it be that the woman thinks she is telling lies?

  “Mrs. Dadson, what she said is not a joke, I know the man personally and I’ve known him all my life, he really is a hard nut to crack.” Kwadwo says trying to convince the woman.

The laughter dies off her face, “what? You mean you are not trying to be funny? But the publicity of educating the girl is ongoing; doesn’t he watch television or listen to news?” Mrs. Dadson manages to ask.

“We do not have television in our house, not even a radio, my father says those are immoral tools” Kwansema says sadly.

At this point, Mrs. Dadson asks the profession of this man.

“A pastor and a cocoa farmer” Kwadwo and Kwansema say in unison.

“What?” All the women in the office exclaim. Mrs. Dadson tells them to wait for some time so she can go to her house to ascertain things for herself but they warn her to bring along a man or some men as the man can be temperamental. She laughs it off and goes to complete her tasks. Mrs. Dadson finishes in about 2 hours. It is a long wait and both have staged the meeting a hundred different ways in their minds, not one has gone well. A deep silence engulfs them as each sits with personal thoughts and fear for the future of the next hour or two.

It is 5pm and Mr. Bentil sits in his rocking chair with his big Bible on his laps. He starts preaching on obedience immediately he sees Kwansema.

“Children, obey your parents in the lord for this is right, honour your father and mother, for this is the only commandment with a promise.” He fails to acknowledge Mrs. Dadson. Kwadwo stands as far as he can so he can run like a thunderbolt in case he turns Jesus with a whip in His father’s house. Somehow, the man never fails to amuse and scare him. He seems to take almost everything written in the Bible at face value.

Good evening Mr. Bentle, I am Mrs. Dadson of FER, Female Education and Rights, I came to speak to you about your daughter Kwansema.

“Whaaaat? You mean this little ingrate carried our house matter on a pan, hawked for miles to sell it at your office?”

By now, everybody in the house numbering 48 (extended family members forming the majority) are lined up on the compound to witness the court proceeding that is threatening to take place.

“No Sir. She just said she wanted to continue her education-“

“What? Her education? And that is your business how? Madam, how old are you?”

”I am 45 sir” Mrs. Dadson says now fully digesting the warning of the children.”

“Do you have children?”

“Yes, I have two”

“Two? Only two? A hen with two chicks, what happens to her when coccidiosis rages through the land?” You have nothing better doing that is why you are buying stories which you cannot cook in your pot” Mr. Bentil spits.

“I beg your pardon?” Mrs Dadson asks appalled.

I mean you are a busy body, anyway I can see you are married You are educated no doubt and have a job. So what do you use your money for?”

Mrs. Dadson sees where the conversation is heading to and intelligently combats it.

“Of course I use it to take care of my children, my mother, my father and myself. If you educate your daughter, she will also take care of you some day, if your wife happens to be working, some of the burden you feel today wouldn’t have been there, even if you are taking care of a child to better someone else’s home, giving out a good gift is better than giving out trash. If trash is what you can send off to another house then it means that your loin is filled with trash” Mrs. Dadson breathes the last word in exasperation, never has she thought any one could irritate her this much. The harsh words he throws about, the mockery in his voice, everything about this man is so irritating.

Mr. Bentil gets up and goes into his bedroom. Kwansema tells the woman to run, everyone is running but Mrs. Dadson stands her ground not knowing what is going on. A minute later, a double barrel gun points at her to leave the house or risk her head being blown into pieces. She raises her hands, moves two steps backward, and turns with a speed of lightening. Her car has been abandoned. By now, Kwadwo is long gone. Everybody breaks into laughter but Kwasema.

Lost in her thoughts, she sits on her legs with her head bowed as her father rains insults on her, he goes as far as casting the demons in her out, demons of disrespect and jealousy. Even her mother tells her she is at fault. Before Mr. Bentil can finish praying, he feels his hands being handcuffed. Every body’s eyes are closed so no one saw the police come in.

“What is happening?” Mr. Bentil asks, thinking a disrespectful someone is playing a joke on him. He opens his eyes to see thirty policemen in his house and his hands cuffed to his back.

“You are under arrest Mr. Bentil, for causing panic and threatening to murder”

His wife; Araba collapses to the ground, his male children cry and heap abuses on the only girl of the house.

Mr. Bentil is locked for the night. He is made to sign an MOU stating; if any harm should befall Mrs. Dadson, he’ll be held responsible. His double barrel is confiscated. Immediately he is released, he takes to his heels not stopping anywhere until he reaches his house.

The first thing Mr. Bentil does is to throw Kwansema out of his house. Even her mother fails to plead on her behalf. He cannot live with someone who can send him to jail any time she wants.

Kwansema goes to Kwadwo’s house. He has been feeling guilty the whole time. He talks to his parents who refuse to take the girl in knowing her father’s nature. He goes with her to Mrs. Dadson’s office again.

Mrs. Dadson thinks this through, even if she forces him to take back the girl, he will maltreat her so she files a suit that the man says he is no longer interested in his own child, she is not suing him for child neglect, she only wants them to get him to sign adoption papers and waive his rights as a father. She is ready to adopt the girl.

 Everyone in the Kwamansa village hears of the disrespectful girl who sends her father to jail and again sends him to court. The next time she will be sending him to his grave. The man win many sympathetic  congregation in his otherwise empty church where he preaches about Satan coming in the form of a daughter to his home, how he has been able to cast her out and how God keeps on protecting him from the valley of the shadow of death.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Dadson relocates to London to join her husband. She takes her family of which Kwansema is part with her.

It’s been twelve years since the demonic girl left the village of Kwamansa. Every household has a television as the myth of its immorality has been broken by its comprehensive news bulletin. Aunt Araba sits watching as a young woman of about 32 is being interviewed. Her smile sends her calling her husband, her name; Kwansema Dadson.

She was the CEO of Dadson and Associates but is now the Deputy Finance Minister.

“Is that not my daughter? Mr. Bentil asks.”

“She is the one” Araba says happily.

Mr. Bentil dresses in his traditional wear, his wife in her Kaba and slit. Life has not been fair to them; he has been demoted as a pastor after he was caught in a compromising situation with one of the choir members. His explanation, the lady tried to seduce him but failed though he was caught with his supporter down. His cocoa farm has been destroyed by pests and his children have disappointed him. His first son drowned in a pool when he went to the university. The second turned into a drunkard when he completed secondary school and the third failed his secondary school exams. His fourth happens to be Kwansema. He had gone looking for the girl after a prophet told him she was his comfort in old age. But she was nowhere to be found. Now he must go and see her. He is sorry for what happened and needs her back as his child. Blood is thicker than water after all.

On their way to Accra, the drunk driver speeds into an articulator truck killing everyone on board. The accident is reported and the bodies are shown on national television for identification. Kwansema sits by the television and easily identifies both parents. She pretends not to have seen them for fear of being an ingrate to her lovely family and goes to her room. Although she hates them, she cannot stop her tears from falling.


The next weekend, she travels to her home town and looks for Kwadwo, he is now a pharmacist in Ada. He has come for the funeral of Kwasema’s parents. He is overjoyed seeing her. He is not yet married and is hoping for a relationship but Kwansema is engaged to be married. She goes with him though as an escort wearing dark glasses, her head and face almost covered in a headgear. She hears the gossip of how the people died, they were going to apologize to their daughter, the one they disowned, something about she being on television and working at the ministries.

Kwansema leaves the funeral in tears. Kwadwo asks her to reconcile with her family members but she refuses, takes his number and drives back to Accra. “They never wanted a lady with a pen; they only wanted a lady with a broom and a bucket. Sleeping dogs must be left to lie after all.” She thinks to herself.    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


Abena thinks of a way to escape this mess called home. She looks on her right and on her left and sees her friends sleeping soundly. What is it they love about this place that makes them sleep without thoughts? This is the street. Girls die everyday without any one bothering to find out how. Sandra was killed after going to work in the night. Her corpse was seen in the papers, no one tried to get it from the police for proper burial. How will she end up? Just last week, she was raped by the street mafia, who told her not to get into his bad books. She has been saving herself for her future husband, all that dissipated into thin air when Jamil set his eyes on her.

What had hurt her most was the manner in which he had her; in the full glare of others. She had cried the whole night with her friends advising her to let it go as she has protection her whole stay on the street. She is seventeen, her mother, she was told left her in the kaya yoo (porters) house in Kumasi and never returned for her. She was given to Mma Leila who runs a brothel. The woman gave her her Junior High School education. When she passed, she told her a woman must use what she has to get what she wants so she shouldn’t expect anything from her from then. All she could do to help her was to usher her into the brothel business.

Abena knew then that her stay with Mma Leila had come to an end. She had seen girls being beaten by men they enter that brothel with, she had seen some being killed and disposed of by Mma Leila. She has seen girls smoking marijuana to a point of madness. She has seen some using cocaine, sleeping through overdose and never waking up. She has seen it all. She has even seen girls gang up on men who fail to pay after whatever, sometimes it had gone overboard and bodies of such men were sent to the forest which always has graves. She has seen girls who tried to leave after getting into business killed or poisoned. She, Abena, vowed never to be one of those. She must be someone who will live proudly. So she bolted from Kumasi to Accra. On reaching here, she found out it was not easy to live by one’s self in Accra, the capital city. She had gotten a job as a chop bar server. She was sacked for insulting a man who touched her breast. She also got a job as a drinking bar attendant, she was sacked by the owner who stole into the girl’s quarters and tried to rape her but for the timely intervention of one of the girls who chanced upon them. The man had told everyone she had tried to seduce him after stealing some money from him. That ended her job there. She asked herself over and over again what joy men find in sex. Was it a curse to come into the world as a girl?

By now, she knew some Kaya girls. They ushered her into the kaya business. Here, what you gain is yours. You only have to pay dues to Mma Kasim and sort the boys out occasionally, and you’re safe. You also have to get a boyfriend, then you’ll not have any problem. He will protect you from boys.

“The thing is that I don’t need any boy” she had naively said. They laughed at her and left the matter for later. Lariba knew experience will be her best teacher. And yes, this is experience. Many boys tried but she refused. Lariba had a powerful boyfriend, the right hand man of the mafia; Hassan, so she wields power in the street. She managed to keep all those boys far from her. As fate will have it, Jamil, the mafia himself had set his eyes on her. Lariba had no power over this man, what this man wants, he gets, he has many girls but none had the audacity to be jealous in his presence, not unless you want to be taught a lesson.

In his absence, the girls bicker and fight but never let it get to his ears. Abena had flatly refused him, he sent his guys to get her but Lariba, on a tip off by Hassan had gone to plead on her behalf and had promised him his sex that night. She gave her something to drink and that ended it. When he came, she had tried to get him off, but she had found out to her own dismay that she wanted his touches. It was a mixed feeling, she hated him, wanted him off her, but she wanted him to scratch some itch she knew not existed. The others looked on, not batting an eye. What disgrace, what shame! Are we humans at all? She thinks to herself. The monster had come by the following day with some money. She was told she had become his favourite because she is pure. Whatever that means, she knows not. I must find a way to escape this mess.

She gets up to walk around and sees the many men sleeping, the many women sleeping, the many children crying for attention and the many others crying they are cold and walk through. She knows not what she is doing, where she is going to, or where she will end. She keeps on walking. Until she hears a voice, are you running away from me? That is Jamil’s voice. What is happening? Is her every deed being reported to this man? He takes a walk with her, buys her tea, bread and fried eggs by the roadside. Lariba had told her she is a lucky girl. All the girls he sleeps with get nothing from him. Here, he tells her the laws of the street.

She is not to say anything when she sees people stealing from others or she will get into trouble with thieves. She is not to insult any boy as that can cause her gang rape. She is to sleep at her place and not to walk around in the dark. Jamil is still saying she can get away with everything because of him but should be careful to maintain her respect.

Abena laughs over the matter, what respect can one maintain on the streets of Accra? He holds her hands and her impulse forces her to pull it back.

“I really like you Abena, just think about it. Now it is late so let’s go back to my place then you can have some rest.”

“No, no, no, take me to my spot. Lariba will worry if she gets up and does not see me”

Fortunately, he says nothing and leads her back. So yes, she cannot run away during the night. She must find a way.

Just when the mosquitoes start having pity on her in her quest to sleep, Lariba wakes her up, something about the storekeepers wanting to open their stores. She gets up, goes to visit the white house for 50pesewas, and baths for 50pesewas. There is nothing anyone can do on the streets of Accra for free. Even urinating is 20p. it’s a horrible place where money is concerned. She grabs her pan and hits the road.

Her first customer for today happens to be a very pleasant woman. She enquires as to what a beautiful Asante girl like her is doing porting. Porting is supposed to be for our sisters and brothers from the north. They are stronger. A southern girl like you should not join in. Abena thinks of telling her, on a second thought, leaves it be. She takes her 2 cedis and thanks her. She wonders though what Lariba will say to the woman’s opinion on porting and laughs. The second person heaps so many heavy things on her head, takes her all around Tudu and gives her one cedi for her trouble. She complains and the old Ga woman heaps abuses upon abuses on her verbally. “onny3 aye s))mi, ony3 aye gbemi, do you think money grows on trees? Greedy girl!” She feels shy of the many eyes this woman is attracting to the scene and leaves before it is too late.

The third is a man like a boy, about thirty years old, fairly handsome and speaks little. After his things are packed in his car, he asks how much he owes. Abena says 2 cedis and the man gives her 50 cedis and says keep the change. What? She turns to go but he gives him his number to call him later. Abena thanks him and leaves. Her fourth is a woman who is only interested in reaching her destination on time, pats with 5 cedis, sits in a trotro without saying anything.  Her fifth customer is a girl who is more or less her age, rude and bossy. Abena watches as she commands sellers, insults other buyers and shouts on her to follow. Somehow they get talking and she realizes that beneath the attitude is a very kind girl. She is going to school and needs someone to watch over her father. Her father happens to be a famous actor. He has never married but brings many women to the house. He has promised never to bring women to the house anymore because it disturbs her. She asks her to come with her to her house so she can cook and watch over him as she goes to school. She will pay her handsomely.

Abena is hesitant but goes any way to have a look. She realises the man in question is Ofosu Brobbey, 35 years old, dark and very attractive. She has been a fan of his since she was little. If Samantha is 17 years old then this man gave birth when he was 22. This is the hottest gossip ever. Does everyone know your father has a child?

“Yes, everyone knows. Haven’t you seen me in newspapers and on television before?” she is clueless, that’s it then but she is sure she watches television more than many people, strange.

“How about giving you one thousand cedis a month?”

What? Was the surprise answer

“Okay, let’s make it a thousand five hundred and that is as far as I can go.”

Not wanting to throw her pride into the gutter, she says:

“That is fine by me, when do I start?”

“Will call you, I can see a phone with you, on Monday. I will talk to my father about it then you can start. Now let me send you to Accra.”

On reaching Accra, Samantha pats with 200 cedis. Abena feels as though she is on cloud nine. She has almost 260 Ghana cedis in a day. She thinks of the man who gave her 50 cedis and calls to thank him. He requests to take her out. She readily accepts.

The man turns out to be a gentleman. He pulls her seat for her and pulls the tag off her dress. He obviously knows she got it to impress him but says nothing.

After eating, which he ordered, he takes her to his car and tells her there is one more place to go to. On reaching a barrier she asks to urinate. When she gets out of the car, she sees the policemen going to the car. She watches from the bush as they argue with Dan. They forcefully open the trunk of his car and bring out a human head. They arrest him and she runs into the bush.

“What is happening? It is not that she is watching a movie. Did a head just pop out of the trunk of that man’s car? Oh, no, no, I might be getting hysterical, was that man going to use me for money rituals? Where was he taking me to? What made him choose me? And I thought he might like me. So he was feeding me fat for his kill”

She left her hand bag with her phone in it in the human-parts car. She runs into the forest, just when she thinks she can go no further, she sees a road and hears the sound of a car. She rushes to the road side and stops the car. The car passes by without a second glance from the driver. She knows it is dangerous to pick up strangers at odd hours but she considers this attitude too much. What is so scary about her that a man will fear? Then again, all the armed robbers who lure innocent citizens with innocent women have overdone themselves. Before her mind conjures thoughts of being abused by armed robbers she hears another car approaching. She stands in the middle of the road to stop it. The man driving gets out and slaps her. She cries out but tells him she needs the help. He feels sorry for the abuse and picks her up.

“So what is an innocent girl like you doing on the Kasoa highway at this time?”

“Kasoa Highway” is all she can say. I am going to Accra.

The man drops her at UTC at 4am. She rushes to her spot and meets Jamil sitting there with Lariba angrily shouting.

A slap greets her and another slap asks her where she went to. She tells her ordeal but all she gets from Jamil is more physical assault.
“Whore! Whore! I thought you were different. So you wanted to go sleep around with fancy men and leave me here?” And more beatings followed. Lariba stands with the other girls, some happy, some amused, some a bit sympathetic and others trying not to bat an eye for fear of an evidence in the gossip slipping by.

After he calms, Abena has both eyes hiding deep behind her swollen cheeks and eyebrow. She looks like a battered boxer. Lariba tends to her wounds. Under no circumstance must she take this to the hospital. Lariba hires a kiosk for the day for her. It costs ten cedis. She goes to work; comes back, gets hot water to clean the wound and cleans it with some spirit. She gives her some painkillers to ease her pain. All Lariba is doing is to make her better, but Abena feels worse.

She feels broken, humiliated and brutalized.

“What more bad things does she have hiding in her future waiting to bath her in shame?” she asks Lariba as if she knows the answer. Lariba advises her to keep away from other men as Jamil is utterly possessive and jealous when he likes someone. The fact is he has had so many of them in the past, they give birth and he loses interest. So if she likes, she can get pregnant. Abena laughs, a laugh which hysterically turns into tears which Lariba tries to stop with no success.

With her phone gone, she needs to get to Samantha’s house before Monday but can’t go there with all her bruises. It is Thursday, she hopes by Sunday she will be well enough to go there. On Saturday evening, Jamil comes to abuse her sexually again. He looks obese, his breathe stinks and his hands are more than metals when they are on her skin. She just hates him so much but has no way of doing away with him. She clings to the sheet she lies on for dear life the whole time he is on top of her. The determination at this stage forces her to go to work. On reaching the store she normally works for in the morning, she sees Samantha standing there. She smiles when she sees her but the smile fades after seeing her bruises. She takes her to her car and insists that she tells her what happened. She skips the sexual abuse and tells her bits of it. She was beaten by a thug while she was asleep. Samantha throws away her pan and takes her home.

Her room is like that of a princess. White sheet on a huge comfortable mattress, she has her own bathroom. She feels this is surreal, she asks Samantha,

“What if your father doesn’t like me? Maybe we should wait until he sees me before I get comfy”

Samantha laughs and tells her everything is all right. Her father has seen her picture and has ‘okayed’ it. She was shown around the house. The kitchen is to die for. Cooking has always been her passion. She was always helping at the Kitchen of Mma Leila’s hotel. She wanted to be a Home Economics student when she thought she could go to the secondary school. Seeing an expensive kitchen forces her to show off with one of her favourite dishes. Samantha eats until she can eat no more. She never knew that Banku and Okra stew could taste this good when prepared at home.

“My instincts never fail me. I was right about you, now tell me all about you” And this starts a vibrant friendship between employer and employee.

“My father is on location. He will be back on Monday to take me to school.”

The two enjoy themselves until Abena goes to bed. She finds out she cannot sleep as she had hoped. She thinks of Lariba, she had been through some verbal torture when she left the last time, what will be happening to her now? Will she be alright? She looks at the watch hanging on the wall, it says 1am. She forces her eyes shut. She needs to wake up early, clean the house to keep her job. Amadu is the gate man for the Brobbeys. He looks well fed and satisfied. He tells her, when Samantha goes out, that she can be a bitch but what subdues her is to see people sad or crying. Her father barely has time to stay in the house let alone bother anyone. He is the sweetest man he has ever seen. She just has to do her job and she’ll have no problem with any of them.

Samantha tries to persuade Abena to go shopping with her but it does not work. She fears she might be spotted by the awful Jamil or some of his spies.  Samantha takes her measurement and buys many things for her. Abena is appalled at the quantity of the clothes she brings so asks how much they cost.

“Nothing, actually, I went to see one of my father’s friends. She owns a boutique; these are some of her rejects. She might be paid by my father. These two, I bought somewhere for special occasions.”

Abena thanks her and serves her. Somehow, every food she prepares, Samantha finds delicious.

As she prepares breakfast for the lady who is going to the university, she sits on the table to wait for the oats to be ready; she feels a shadow cast on her, looks up and there stands the actor in all his glory. She stands straight, greets, apologises and bows her head in shyness.

Mr. Brobbey laughs and asks her to be herself. He stretches his hands and she takes it with her head bowed. He continues laughing until the table turns; he passes air and this time, Abena laughs while he hides his face. He later joins in the laughter and says, “I am human after all, you must be Abena, nice meeting you finally, I am Ofosu Brobbey”

Like I don’t know, who will not know that? That person must be living on this earth as a frog. She thinks “Nice meeting you too Mr. Brobbey” she says so she doesn’t look like a crazed fan.

He helps her set the table, something that makes her feel so odd. She sits and waits for Samantha to come down for breakfast after all her things have been parked into the car. Some people are really lucky, she is taking things that she has never seen before to school. After breakfast, she is asked to go and change. She is coming with them to Kumasi.

It rains throughout the journey. They reach Kumasi at 12pm.

They take Samantha to her hostel; West End Hostel at Ayeduase. She has another girl in the hostel with her. Two in a room Abena is told. They bid her farewell at 3pm. Father and daughter shed few tears and Samantha asks Abena to take very good care of her father after giving her an expensive phone as a gift.

“Press one to call me and two to call Daddy.” Abena receives a hug from Samantha. Something she is new to.

On their way, Mr. Brobbey stops at Linda Dor for them to eat and buys her some fruit juice. They reach home at 7:45pm. Abena asks if she should prepare something for dinner. Mr. Brobbey says he’ll rather drink. He asks her to join him. The drinking goes overboard and she forgets how she got to her room in the middle of the night, she goes back to sleep.

Abena wakes up not knowing for certain whether it happened or she is hallucinating. After seeing the man, she realizes that it is something that might have happened; sex with Mr. Brobbey. She tries to stay away from him as much as she can but the man will not agree. He talks to her every chance he gets, calls her when she escapes to her room, soon, she forgets of the ordeal.

Three months later, she realizes that she is gaining weight, having series of illnesses but she pays no attention. She trips and falls and loses consciousness. Mr. Brobbey sends her to the hospital only to be told she is three months pregnant.

He brings her home worried. This is going to be a scandal, Mr. Brobbey thinks.

Whose baby is this? Is it for Jamil or Mr. Brobbey? I do not know for a fact that he slept with me. Jamil on the other hand certainly did many times.

Mr. Brobbey goes straight to his room as Abena does same. She thinks through this and realises she cannot stay here. She must leave before Samantha gets back. But where will she go to? Jamil will kill her but her pride will not allow her to stay in this house. If she packs her bag, they will certainly know, so she wakes up the next day, prepares breakfast and tells Amadu she is going to the market. She picks her 4500 Ghana Cedis; the accumulation of her salary, which she keeps under her bed and leaves for cape coast.

She gets to Elimina and asks around for a cheap room. She gets a wooden structure for three hundred cedis a year and starts selling rubber bowls. She takes rubber bowls from Accra and takes roasted fishes to Accra for sale. In her ninth month, she delivers a set of twins, a boy and a girl. It seems her eyes are deceiving her, the boy looks so much like Mr. Brobbey and the girl is her carbon copy. The old women who live around help her tend to her children until they are three months old. This is probably one thing Ghanaians can be noted for; their hospitality, all old women see young people as their children and vice versa. She is so grateful for their help.

Meanwhile, Samantha looks for Abena without success. She feels the poor girl might have encountered some problems. Amadu says she was alright, she just fainted the previous day, was sent to the hospital and discharged the same day, but her father can’t seem to look straight into her eyes any time Abena’s issue comes up. What she doesn’t know is that Mr. Brobbey has hired private detectives to look for the girl for months. Some have gone to Kumasi, Tamale, Wa, Bolgatanga, he knows she will never go to the central region because the girl knows no one from that area. But the detectives assure him that if the girl is in Ghana, they will find her.

Abena gets a nanny for her children so she can work to support them. She brings her fishes to Accra and sends back her rubber bowls not knowing the eyes that follow her. She even accommodates Mr. Lamptey who claims he is a tourist wanting to camp there for a few days.

After a hard day hawking, Abena baths and gets her children ready for bed. She raises her eyes only to see Mr. Brobbey standing in front of her. Now her eyes are deceiving her. She closes her eyes and opens them only to find him standing there.

“Were you that scared? Did you not trust me? Was I that monstrous? I was a bit shocked, but did you think I’ll run from my responsibilities?”

Abena sits shivering. She is ordered to pack her things and come with him to Accra. Abena says no. Mr. Brobbey tells her of the reality on the ground. If the media gets wind of this, they are going to fry him. His career will go down the drain. He doesn’t know about what he feels for her and considering her age, he doesn’t know about marriage now but time will tell their fate. Abena is worried about what Samantha will say but he tells her Samantha already knows. The lady knew before she even told her that something had happened. It is here that she learns that the genius was actually 21 years old. She is my elder brother’s daughter, he died when she was young and I have taken care of her since. Her mother travelled abroad after leaving her with my brother, the woman never returned. No one knows what has happened to her. She only looks young.

When Samantha sees Abena, she jumps and hugs her nearly to the ground, hurling insults at her playfully. “Why couldn’t you tell me about this? Are you comfortable being the victim of circumstances?” were among the many questions.

“Daddy must marry you whether he likes it or not”

Abena cannot sleep. She dreams of Jamil always. Sometimes, he finds her and beats her up, sometimes he comes to the house to claim paternity of her children. She becomes so lean that everyone asks what her problem is. Mr. Brobbey takes her to the hospital but the doctors say she is healthy. Abena finally breaks down and tells Mr. Brobbey everything.

The man looks at her in shock. How can such a young girl go through so much? He thinks this is even more sympathetic than most of the sympathetic movies he stars in.

He goes for the paternity test and relieves the girl of her fears. The children are his. He arranges for her to be taught at home to write the Nov/Dec exams.

Lately, he does not know what has come over him, even when he is on location, he yearns to see Abena and his children. He cannot say that he is in love but he certainly feels something more for her. May be it is the case of close trees eventually joining roots.



Two years later, Abena passes her exams with distinction. Mr. Brobbey sends her to the United States of America to offer Nutrition. At the airport, he forcefully puts his promissory ring on her finger and she can’t help laughing and hugging her family before boarding the plane. She thinks of the change she wants to cause on the street and prays that God keeps Lariba and the other girls safe until she is in the position to get them out of there. It’ll be well when it ends well.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



I stubbornly hold onto my MP3 as the ear piece blast noise that I find pleasurable, not because of its smoothness, but because of the fact that it drowns the noise that is coming from my parents. I went to visit my friend in skimpy clothes, yes, came late, yes, that does not give them the right to treat me as an outcast.  I don’t know how we came to be like this. I was really close to them, especially to my father who now looks at me like an insect. Well, before I have time to close my eyes as I comfortably lie in the sofa, the earpiece is yanked from my ears. My father stands in front of me with hateful words coming out of his mouth:

“You’re going to the village. Stay with your aunt, go to the farm, battle with mosquitoes and other insects, when you finally learn sense, you will appreciate the life you have here, go and pack your things!”

I never thought it has gotten to this stage. “But papa, I am not that bad for you to send me to that uncouth place, those villagers live like animals” I cry.

“Well, you have developed horns, so you are now a bull, prepare to dine with those animals, Odo, I even forgot you packed her bag, bring it and bring that animal with you” My father angrily says. They really are serious. Before I can say a word, I find myself in the back seat as my father drives with a cloudy face and my mother cries.

I am an only child, was pampered when I was young. I have always been a clever student. I just completed my secondary school. Somehow, since I came home, all that I have been doing go against the norms of my household. My clothes, eating habits, friends, household work, church preference, everything I do annoy my parents. I am shivering thinking of those bush people. I have never been to the home town of either parent. But from what I’ve gathered from them, my mother’s home town is better than my father’s. So it seems I’m going to the worst.

We reach Nkawkaw and my father buys “nkyekyerewa” (a combination of boiled maize and groundnut), he doesn’t bother to give me some. My mother takes one and passes it to me, but I stubbornly refuse. Well, on reaching Abetifi Kwahu, I realize it is not as bad as they described. There are many trees here, and by my studies, I know the greens are good for the production of oxygen. I see very beautiful houses and my face lights, only to be sent to a mud self- contained half broken house. Why? The house is almost in ruins. I quickly inspect and there is no light. I look out for the taps and there is no pipe borne water. A voice in my mind screams: What is this?

I decide to get on my knees and ask for forgiveness but my father is not ready to listen. I also have my pride. In the first place, I do not know why they are doing this to me. I shut up as my aunt quarrels with my father on the state of the family house and looks on as he and his wife drive off.

My aunt serves me food in some black aluminium silver bowl; my first impulse is to reject it. The growl of my stomach reminds me, I cannot afford to reject this one. I take the food and it tastes like the best soup I have ever had. I laugh and my aunt asks why? I ask her for more and she serves. Little does she know I’m laughing at my mother for her sub- standard food taste though she has everything to aid her in cooking. Looking at the clay stove, the firewood, and the old cooking pots brings some irony which is too funny than Bill Cosby’s sitcoms.

My aunt tells me to be careful or the food will pass through my nose. I know what she means so keep quiet and finish my meal. My room is a very cosy place, small but has everything, everything but electricity and electrical gadgets. I ask my aunt how she listens to radio and watches television and she brings me some huge radio which uses batteries. I have a good sleep. I did not even feel one bite of mosquito.

The next day, my aunt wakes me up at 4 am for the stream. On our way, she tells me all about her children in the city and how they are suffering. She tells me how one is abroad and struggling to help those in Accra to also go there. I ask her why she lives the way she does and the response, I know, will make me think for a long time:

“Life without traffic, without noise, without labelling, a world you know you belong, that is the life I have here. I have lived in the city before, but never had a day’s rest. The heat was simply unbearable, the noise always threatened to make me deaf and every one was looking for whom to dupe, be it the seller or the buyer. Not an honest soul there. Maa Afia, here nature feeds me. The farm produces the best “kontomire” and coco-yam, not to talk of yams and maize. Never think living in the village is bad. I never lack, they send me what they can which I never get to finish before they send another. I’ll show you how cool it is. ”

I try to make conversation but end up failing throughout the journey to the stream.  The water comes from some clean stones, she fetches some with her calabash for me to drink and it is the tastiest water I have ever drunk. I ask myself now, why did my parents make me believe the village is a monstrous place? We go fetching four times. The stream is about 45 minutes’ walk from our house. I have always heard from my father that my aunt is very aggressive, but now that I live with her, she seems like the coolest person ever.  Breakfast is porridge and tea bread. I love the “pepre, hwintia and other flavours in the porridge. Though I miss using my laptop, iPod and watching television, I feel this is the safest place I have ever been.

My aunt dresses me for the farm, and I look ridiculous. Every part of my body is covered by dirty clothes. When I complain, she lovingly says she doesn’t want my beautiful skin to have scars. I become nervous.

“Aunt, what if we are devoured by lions?”

Her laughter eases my fears, “Lions? What do you learn in schools nowadays? Lions are not found in these parts. In fact, apart from some few snakes, antelopes and some birds, it is difficult to come by aggressive animals in our forest. All the lands around have owners who farm. So by now many are in their farms. Even when there is danger, you just need to scream and many people will come to your rescue.”

We reach the top of a mountain and she asks me to turn and look, standing here, I see the whole village, the beautiful houses and the not so beautiful ones, telling tales of all hands are not equal. The sight is so breathtakingly beautiful that I can stand here for days without moving. She tells me to let us go as time is far spent.

The chirping of the birds, the green shrubs and the trees which tower above make the road to the farm beautiful and scary at the same time. Although aunt tried allying my fears, I still have a little lurking that a snake may try acting wild and chop off my legs. We see people going to farm in our direction, and others coming. Everyone we meet greets and mentions my name as if they have known me all their lives.

“Aunt, how did they know my name? Did you tell the chief to announce it this morning with the village radio?”

My aunt laughs and I see her shedding tears. Now I want to know what amuses her. She tells me I look like my father so immediately they see me, they know who I am. Then she nicely tells me the way I talk is funny. How funny? My mother will cry out that I am being disrespectful without telling me how exactly, but this woman finds it funny. Then I ask her what she means by funny. She tells me a story rather:

“Once there was a girl whose parents died when she was young. She had no one to teach her manners, so she spoke as she thought fit. She never thought of being rude but everything she said was rude. Because of this, many people decided to shun her company. The river goddess of the village became so sad that the orphan was being treated that way. So she decided to visit her. Knowing her beauty, she knew many will know she is the goddess if she visited her during the day time. She did not want to scar her by visiting her in the night as her brightness will give show her identity. For she shone bright in darkness.

She waited for the perfect opportunity. Tuesdays were days the Anomakodee people rested. No one was to go to the farm. Sweetie didn’t know and the people wanted her dead, so no one told her, she went to the farm every Tuesday. The river goddess started accompanying her to farm, teaching her how to speak to the elderly, to her peers and how to be polite in the awkward of situations. She taught her instead of rudely saying, “what do you want?”  She must say, “Please how may I help you?” Instead of saying “I did not do it intentionally”, she must say “Please I am at fault, forgive me” Instead of asking “Who did this to my house” She must ask whoever she sees around politely, “Please did you see anyone around here?” When something happens to someone she must first say “Sorry” and try to see if the person is hurt, no matter how funny it is”

By now, we are at the farm, I am uprooting some leaves as she sorts out the maize for planting. I am too engrossed in the story that I do not appreciate her pause, but I manage to say “Please aunt, then what happened?”

She laughs delightfully and comments on how intelligent and wise I am. Yes, I do not want to be like the girl who didn’t know how to talk and so had no friends. I have learnt my lesson even before she finishes.

“Sweetie learnt well, day by day, she behaved well after visiting the farm on Tuesdays. The people of Anomakodee started seeing her like a goddess, because no one goes to the farm on Tuesdays and comes back without an ailment. She started having many friends who asked her how she became that refined. Upon telling them, they got to know she was being tutored by the great river goddess. A hunter once saw them talking and came to tell the chief of the village. He died immediately afterwards. The prince of the village saw her and fell in love with her. Her way of talking, her way of dressing…”

At this point, I have to ask how she dressed:

“Like an “aketeesia” meaning one who covers herself in wait for her true groom. The prince married her and she became the wisest queen to ever grace the throne of Anomakodee.”

This woman is the most refined woman I have ever met. She is not an animal at all. If humans were to be animals, then those in the cities will top the chat. Who could ever think that this woman had so much wisdom in her? With one story, she has convinced me to speak properly and dress properly. Thoughts of calling her an animal gnaw at my heart. I was wrong to tag her in that category, No one must be tagged that way, if I will become a queen wherever I find myself in the future, I certainly must think well of people. If this woman is this good, then why does my father have only bad things to say about her? Before I could control myself, the question jumps from my throat into her ears:

“Aunt, why do you always quarrel with my father?”

She smiles and tells me;

“He is my brother; he comes directly after me, so surely we will fight. He loves annoying me, and I love annoying him, but make no mistake, we love each other as much as we love our families.”

In the evening, I help her prepare ‘fufu’ and palm nut soup, she only used natural spices to prepare it but it tasted superb. My pleas for her to make me pound does not work as she stirs with one hand and pounds with another. She only asks me to keep an eye on the soup.

After eating, we hear sounds coming from other houses, we go to the street and see many people gathering for the farm, one farmer has not returned from farm since yesterday. The men go into the forest only to come with the man alive and healthy. He has built a hut in the farm and enjoys staying there sometimes. He does not know why his wife makes mountains out of mole hills.

Then it strikes me, the fact that we are each other’s keeper in the village. Who has that time for who in the city? Even when you are knocked down by a car, the best you will hear is “sorry”. Here, many will go as far as feeding you even when they barely have enough. These thoughts root me in the village and I promise to give myself this peace.



Many educated youths met at the village square to sing and dance, this communal games warmed my heart. It was not that they had no television in their houses, it is just that they loved human interactions more. They are the most enlightened beings to ever grace my world. In the areas of sports, politics, current affairs etc. I find myself awed by their thoughts. Villagism is true wisdom untainted, I tell you.

I stayed with my aunt until my results were released. I passed all my subjects and my parents came with their happy faces to take me to Accra. I told them I would love to live in the village with my aunt. All their pleas did not work. My father quarrelled with my aunt for stealing me from them, this time; I knew they were faking so I paid no attention to them. I was admitted into The Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology where I am offering medicine. I visit my parents occasionally but stay permanently with my aunt. My father finally renovated the family house.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


Image   Image

Mma Adjara stands in the middle of the compound wondering what is going to happen. Is she to support Wadudu or Watara in their bid for kingship? She was the first wife of the late king, their father, and loves them both. Fate had dealt her a nasty blow so much so that she gave birth to only “animals”. She painfully thinks about the horrible name society has given to her girls even before they were born. No matter how hard she tried, she gave her husband girls. The elders of the land put pressure on her husband to take another wife as custom demanded and she was left with no option but to agree. The first born of Fatahiya, the second wife, was twin boys who never made it to their second year because of measles. The witchcraft card was drawn and she fitted perfectly on its table. Her husband had been gracious to rebuff the allegations citing the words of the herbalist who took care of the boys. Tried as Fatahiya did, she could not conceive after three years so Naa- Soringahi had to take a third wife out of the many beautiful girls who were being offered to the king as gifts. Fatahiya begrudged her for what seemed like eternity thinking she was somehow connected with her inability to conceive. She tolerated her.

The third wife Salma bore a boy and a girl, she lost the girl but Alhassan, the boy survived. Two months later, Fatahiya also conceived a male child; Watara. No one knew of her pregnancy because she went to her mother’s home town Zuhiri when she realized she was pregnant. Everyone in Hasuni thought she left because she was jealous of the new wife, even her husband thought so. When members of her family called on the king to say Fatahiya had delivered, everyone was shocked. There were rumours that she might have stolen the baby or she might have committed adultery to deliver that baby but Mma Adjara had extinguished the fire in that rumour flame.

Five years after these children were born, a ten year old boy was brought to the palace and no one was told he was the son of Naa-Soringahi. Wadudu looked like a clone of his father, the king. His presence shook Mma Adjara and the very fabric of the Hasuni kingdom. As to how this came about, the old man who brought the boy said Zelia, his mother was dead. He said “Zelia” looking directly in the eyes of Mma Adjara as though she was supposed to know her. When she searched his face without a clue, he said:

“Zelia your former maid”

“Huh?” was all Mma Adjara could say. She remembered the girl. She was a respectful girl who was brought to the palace when she was around fifteen years old. She was a bright young girl who adored her children and took very good care of the princesses. When her first princess was four years old, the girl had gotten up one day to say she would like to leave the palace. Mma Adjara had depended so much on her and trusted her completely. She tried all she could to convince her but the girl was defiant, she wanted to go to her ailing father, she could not live in the palace any longer. At first, she thought the girl was hiding something, but after seeing her father, she allowed her, her father was old and limping on one leg. She could never had thought that her husband had had carnal knowledge of the young girl.

She took a look at the king in his throne for clues but his head was bowed. The elders decided to make Wadudu Mma Adjara’s third child and first son. As to the explanation, the throne had no explanation to give anyone. Those palace maids who were seen wagging their tongues disappeared without a trace. Within months, the Hasuni kingdom was quiet on this matter though it was more like an open secret.

Each day with Wadudu, Mma Adjara felt blessed. He was the most well nurtured boy she had ever met. He was a respectful, adorable, wise and hard-working young man to ever live. Fatahiya looked for ways to get him out of the palace but all her traps backfired. The last set-up that made her give up was when she said Wadudu proudly blurted out the forbidden saying of the Hasuni Kingdom which must never be mentioned, to her hearing. According to the traditions of Hasuni Kingdom, saying that “Lahiri will poison Kumzaazi” is like saying a prince will poison another prince in order to be king. This is a forbidden saying because it happened two centuries ago in the Hasuni kingdom.

The chief called the boy and asked him about it, he said;

“Naa, I know it is a curse to say this kind of thing. My grandfather told me this particular statement, when made, the body of the utterer was stripped of all clothes and thrown into the evil forest of Asisam. The evil forest of Asisam, my grandfather told me, holds all the witches that Baba Umotu sacks from the villages under Hasuni Kingdom. It is where many fierce animals hunt for human flesh and it is where Apiopiopio hunts for human blood for his deity. I am very sure I did not utter that statement. I hardly see Mma Fatahiya in the house and I was with Mma Adjara the whole day yesterday”

Mma Adjara confirmed that he was with her and Fatahiya nearly lost her head but for the timely intervention of her family who planned for someone to take the blame saying the victim’s voice sounded like Wadudu’s.

Naa loved Wadudu not because he was his photocopy, but because he felt sorry for forcing himself on his mother. He felt he had wronged the girl so much he started having a soft spot for Zelia, but it was too late. He could not bring the matter up because he felt getting married to her would be unfair to his wife. This made him bury his feelings deep within his heart before she left his kingdom. He did not know he had planted a seed in her very new farm.

Now the king is dead. Before he died, he confided in his wife that he would rather have Wadudu become his successor but the elders would use the laws of the land to make it impossible. He pleaded with his intelligent queen to think of a way to make it possible. He told the elders before passing on that he will tell his first wife how his successor will be chosen, they grumbled, but agreed. The wishes of the dying must not be challenged, everyone knew this adage well. Alhassan and Watara, everyone knew were spoilt brats. They never did their father proud and their mothers fought for nothing.

One of the customary laws of Hasuni holds that “an issue between a royal and a servant cannot be king.” Though Wadudu had been portrayed as the son of the first wife, everyone knew of his background.

Now that Naa is dead and many heads want the throne in their families, Mma Adjara is supposed to choose the next king for approval and her rivals are all putting pressure on her to select their sons.

Under the laws of the land, Alhassan is the right person to be king because he is the first royal son of Naa but Salma had no strong backing from the elders. Most of the elders were relatives of Fatahiya. Mma Adjara has an opinion in this matter but if she chooses Wadudu, she would be turned down flatly. She asked them to give her three weeks to tell them what her husband had said and to help choose the next king.

Two weeks later, Fatahiya and her son called Alhassan to come and have some pito with them. Alhassan died that evening and Salma was beside herself with grief. Mma Adjara could not think straight. She confronted Fatahiya after a palace guard told her what happened. She denied and appealed to Mma Adjara not to be paranoid into making decisions by listening to fake gossip. She shed crocodile tears showing her grief for the loss of Alhassan. The next day, the guard who told Mma Adjara of the pito drink disappeared. Mma Adjara stands under the baobab tree thinking and soliloquizing on her next move.

She devices a good plan to get the best king for the kingdom. She calls for the elders of the land and tells them her husband had told her to first give all his sons one puzzle to solve. The families of his sons must stay out of solving the puzzle or Apiopiopio must strike them down. They are to solve the puzzle and meet her on the next moon with the result. The one who solves the puzzle has a greater chance of becoming the next king. She went further to say there are three phases of the test, finding the meaning of the puzzle is the first. So the puzzle was given to them on the skin of their family totem; a lion.

“Strength soar when brooms work, we drink many families of water at a go.”

Watara is the first to speak.
“Why must this half-baked prince be in the competition?”

His uncle tells him to keep quiet as that is the last wish of his dead father. But he tells his uncle that must have been because his father wanted Wadudu to be king. He angrily told his uncle that his father knew  Wadudu was brilliant that is why he brought learning into the picture. He is rushed into the room by his mother. She tells him to think hard and solve the puzzle as the god of Apiopiopio will never spare anyone who intervenes. Watara asks his mother if Wadudu cannot go the same way Alhassan went. Fatahiya thinks for a while, and tells him to let her sleep on the matter.

Mma Adjara and the elders patiently wait for the next moon.

When Wadudu was exonerated from the web of lies by Fatahiya, Mma Adjara knew the boy’s life was in danger. She gave him a homing pigeon for a pet. She told him to keep that bird with him at all times. The bird became his best friend and confidant. She also gave him two wild dogs and two cats to keep as pets. Wadudu loved Mma Adjara so much that he kept her gifts so well. Seeing the puzzle on the lion skin, he chuckles and says in his head, my father was a very intelligent man. He went into his room and immediately solves it in his head waiting for the day of submission.

Fatahiya sends a guard to send a nicely shaped gourd of pito to Wadudu. Her instruction was to tell him that his grandfather sent it to him. Wadudu sees his mother and she tells him of the pito, but she tells him to pour some of his pito for one cock to drink. Wadudu does as instructed and the cock dies instantly. Mma Adjara instructs her guards to get the guard who brought the pito but he was nowhere to be found. She tells Wadudu to be extra careful. When he is going to the farm, he must make sure he goes with his pets and guards; she also has one last request for him.

The evening is bright with the moon smiling down on the earth and the stars playing in the sky. Fireflies on this night have lost their bright shine to the sky beings and many guards whose eyelids have been removed to keep them from sleeping stand at vantage points keeping watch over Wadudu’s hut. Tomorrow is the day of the submission of the test and the whole kingdom anticipates the selection of their king. Before any of the guards gets to know what is happening, about four of the guards are seen lying on the ground, murdered. The rest shout for help but no one hears this because they all drank from the big drum of water that sits in front of the huts. Fatahiya made sure to put the sleeping medicine in. The guards needed one thing done, to murder Wadudu.

Nkeemasi is the guard of the forest, he witnesses what is going on until he sees the angry faces of the murderers when they realize what they have killed to kill is a straw decoy. They try picking up one dead guard for questioning but it is no use. They start cleaning the house and conveying the dead guards to God knows where. He watches from where he hides. These people are to be feared. Because they did not get him, they are wiping all evidence of an attack on Prince Wadudu. Mma Adjara was right when she requested that we hide Wadudu. The gods must do something, he thinks. He hides and watches until all of them leave and dawn gives way to the morning rays.

Nkeemasi tells Mma Adjara everything that happened in the night. The guards search for Wadudu in the whole land and other villages. Traps were made for him on the many paths to the market square where the test is to take place. Time now for the test and Watara is the only prince who shows up. Some of the elders are impatient, others are pleasantly happy. The happy elders put pressure on Mma Adjara to start the presentation and disqualify Wadudu for disrespecting the elders of the land and herself. Mma Adjara heeds to their demand but before they can rejoice, a beautiful maiden seated in the audience comes forward and sits with Watara. All the elders shout, abomination!

Wadudu takes off the female apparel and takes his fugu from one of his sisters, the last born of Fatahiya and wears it with his royal shoes. The whole kingdom has never seen anything like this. Some shout in adoration, others shout in disappointment. Watara is called to give his presentation and he comes to say:

“Strength soar when brooms work, we drink many families of water at a go. This means that we must use our strength to fly as we hold brooms to sweep the sky. The water we drink, we must give to our families. Thank you”

Many of the elders place their hands on their heads, never have they seen a foolish prince as this one, all their tutelage have gone into one ear and gotten out of the other. Wadudu stands in front of the elders and audience:

“Strength soar when brooms work, we drink many families of water at a go. (He produces two calabashes, one with water, and brooms tied together. (He lifts the broom, removes just one and easily breaks it and takes the whole tied broom and says) “Strength soar when brooms work mean with one broom there is no strength, with many together, it becomes difficult to break. This simply means when we are together, we can never be defeated, just one of us is no hurdle for even a sole enemy.”

He now puts the empty calabash down and lifts the one with water and pours it one drop after the other in the calabash on the ground and says;) When rain falls, it falls one drop after the other with many dropping at the same time. Those which fall at the same time are in one family, with every second rain fall, we have new families of water. Most of these families go into our rivers to form the water that quenches our thirst. Without the strength of their families, we will not have enough to drink to keep us alive. This goes to buttress the fact that unity is strength.”

The applause is simply thunderous. All hands clap, even ones from the enemies. Mma Adjara calls on the head elder to say something.

“What can I say now? All I will say is what Wadudu here has said. It couldn’t have been delivered any better. So Watara has failed miserably and Wadudu has passed. Baba Fuseina says.

The clap and happiness from the audience is simply unimaginable. Watara gets up to leave and Mma Adjara speaks for him to sit.

“It is not over yet Watara. The second test is this;” she hands over another skin to both of them

Watara reads his “The body must be free, the soul must be holy to hold souls under a kingdom, convince your audience in the next moon”

What is the meaning of this? Some of the elders tell him it is for him to find out and for them to listen. He leaves the market ground angry with his mother trailing him.

Fatahiya calls her young daughter:

“Hasana, why were you helping that half-baked prince when you have a full prince for a brother?”

“Wↄi Mma, aren’t they all my brothers? Please I didn’t do anything bad oh, don’t make me a bad girl.” Hasana retorts.

“Don’t be silly Hasana, now tell me how you were able to conceal him or I will call Apiopiopio to deal with you.”

“Mma, I just met him on the way and he asked me to give him my wrapper, I had another for my friend Koona and gave it to him to dress that is all.”

“From today, you better tell me whenever he asks you for something, and be sure to bring Koona for me to see her. How can you keep a friend that I don’t know? Her being from another kingdom is the more reason I must know her, do you hear me?”

“Yes Mma, I will ask her to come and stay with me for a while so you will see her soon.” is all Hasana has to say and she says it laughing within her so badly.

There is a frantic search for Wadudu. First, one of his cats die and his dogs bark so loudly, it is as if the world is falling on their heads. He climbs into his straw ceiling and watches as the guards comb the whole room looking for him this hot afternoon. He knows by now all his guards have been killed. Soomia, his homing pigeon flies to Mma Adjara and restlessly flaps its wings, Mma sends guards to Wadudu’s house and four men are caught. Mma Adjara hides them under her underground quarters which no one knows of, no one, not even Wadudu.

Fatahiya becomes very restless, she has waited the whole night for the head elder to tell him something but he had failed to turn up. She covers herself like an old woman and goes to his house only to be told the man doesn’t want to see her. She goes back to her quarters worried. She thinks she saw a doppelganger of Wadudu warning her to be careful or risk dying together with her whole family. She is so afraid that she goes into the hut of Hasana to sleep. Here, she sees Koona sleeping besides her. Mma, Koona came today so I was thinking of bringing her to see you tomorrow. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I feel very bad, I think I am getting sick so I thought of sleeping here with you today, but with your friend asleep, I don’t think it will be possible”

Hasana laughed and told her to share a bed with her in her bedroom as Koona loved sleeping by herself. Fatahiya was glad. The dawn of the next morning, she meets Koona and sees her under the fickle rays of the lantern and expresses her happiness at meeting her. Koona thanks her and leaves for the bathroom. The search for Wadudu continues until the day of the second test without any knowledge of the guards of his whereabouts.

Mma Adjara sits in the female throne and asks those vying for the throne to present their work. She warns that none must lie in the presence of the elders or Apiopiopio will strike the person down. Wadudu is called first:

““The body must be free, the soul must be holy to hold souls under a kingdom, convince your audience in the next moon. This means one must be without the guilt of taking another’s soul unfairly to be able to rule a kingdom. Naa wanted us to swear in front of the elders of the kingdom and Apiopiopio the great that we have taken no life unfairly and I Wadudu Soringahi swears that never have I even taken a life let alone take a life of another unfairly. If someone has died because of me, then it definitely means I could do nothing to save the person or I had no idea the person will end up that way. I ask for the forgiveness of all such people and promise to live right by them.” There was a thunderous applause as usual as he sits down.

Watara cannot get up, he looks in the face of his mother who passes a charm to him to wear on his wrist and go. He swears that he has never killed anyone unfairly but before his next sentence, he is hit by thunder and he dies instantly.

What could be happening? Fatahiya starts taking off her nice female fugu and white top she strips herself naked as people start running away from her. Hasana Pleads with her to stop and the elders hold Hasana from getting any closer. Apiopiopio has gotten her brain; there is no way she can be saved. Let’s leave her to go. She will die by the Apiopiopio shrine and her blood will be used for whatever Apiopiopio needs.

Hasana cries aloud and Wadudu can do nothing but sympathise with her.

“I think helping you is my mistake, I took you into my house and made you pose as a lady and now my brother and mother are dead. I know they were up to no good but they were my family”

“And I am also your family”

Wadudu says sadly.

“I know, but why does it hurt so much brother?”

The first son of the King of Homoni Kingdom who is sitting in the audience gets up and takes her into his arms.

“I will like to be your family if you’ll have me. I am the heir apparent to the throne of Homoni Kingdom and I’ll make you the crown princess and the queen someday. Your golden heart deserves to rule. My father was given the task of taking care of Wadudu by his grandfather who died some years back. That is why he was forbidden from going back to his mother’s hometown, Thank you for your help.

It is a very cold evening  but Mma Adjara sends for the head elder, Baba Fuseini. He comes and frowns after hearing that Wadudu must be made king. He tells Mma Adjara that the kingship must go to the family of the late king’s brother. Mma Adjara tells him:
“I have evidence of the people you sent to kill Wadudu. It is either you agree and convince your people or face the consequences.”

The elder’s face turns so pale and he starts panicking. Mma Adjara asks him to leave and think about it or face the consequences.

Baba Fuseini cannot sleep this night. He sends for the elders and tells them to consider Wadudu as the next king. The elders disagree until he tells them what the queen had told him. They ask whether they can look for the hidden guards. Baba Fuseini impatiently says he would have finished them already if he could find them. They all agree to support Wadudu and make him King. Baba Ntanu asks if Wadudu can be killed because for a half-baked royal to be king is something he cannot comprehend. Baba Fuseini tells him that boy is being protected by Apiopiopio. He gets angry with the fact that some of them do not use their brains to think. If this boy can be killed, he would have been killed already. Let’s just be happy that Hasana will be the queen of a great kingdom some day and let go of this one to save our heads.


Wadudu was made king of the Hasuni Kingdom after he married the most intelligent girl in the kingdom. He ruled Hasuni for eighty years with peace and unity as his hallmark. When he died, the name of the kingdom was changed from Hasuni to Naa Wadudu Kingdom because of the love the people had for him. His first son who was equally peaceful succeeded him. THE END.

By Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



As I limp on one leg into the VIP bus, I bump into a colleague who was travelling to Kumasi. Though I was the last passenger, I was given the number one seat and this colleague had the number two seat. As I sat awkwardly beside him, I took my phone and began to browse. I had nothing to say to him though he was in a good mood, he also had nothing to say to me. So I pretended to sleep on the bus. When we reached Kintampo, he asked that I went with him to look for something to eat. Feeling determined that I will waste no money on food or anything on this trip, I declined although he insisted. I knew he would pay for my expenses, but I thought that will make it more awkward. He left finally. As I was about to stretch a little in the car, the mate calls:

  “Fine sister, it seems you are not going anywhere. Can you please watch this car for us? I mean look from head to toe before anyone enters.”

Seeing that I looked bewilded, he added:

  “I am asking this because there are many thieves here.”

I pull my hand bag close to me and he laughs and leaves. I tried looking the hair to toe of passengers who entered the car, but tried as I did, no words came out even if I wanted to ask them if they were passengers or not. This was because; I did not know all the passengers. The car also had two exits and so those I laid no eyes on could still enter through the front. I realized the assignment given me by my master the mate could not be carried out. So I stretched my legs and closed my eyes.

A woman who sat by me suddenly decided to let her mouth loose, telling me about her many travelling escapades and stressed her intention of getting down in Techiman to pass the night because of tiredness though she paid an Accra fare. To this I had nothing to say, I just smiled and closed my eyes.

Ten minutes later, my seat mate came with roasted goat meat and a big paper juice. What I wanted to avoid happened. I did not know what to say. I asked him why he bought me something when I specifically told him I wanted nothing. But I saw that the young man was only trying to be polite and so I needed not be hard on him. I thanked him and he told me to continue stretching my legs as he was going to sit behind me until the seat owners arrived. This I did. When we finally took off, he chewed his meat and drank his juice. Though I wanted to drink some, I decided against it because I lacked the appetite.

We were not lucky, the border was closed by the time we reached Kintampo. So we were made to wait for over two hours before it was opened. When we reached Kumasi, My colleague alighted and bid me farewell on my journey. I was a bit anxious. This was a journey I could not fail to attend. My mother who took care of me, helped me straighten up in life was getting engaged in her late thirties. I knew it meant the world to her, being married. So I just had to be there to lend my support.

So even being knocked down by a motor bike could not be an excuse to stay back. I was grateful for being alone in the bus though I hated the air-conditioned bus. The scent of the many people and the closure of all windows and doors made the air in the vehicle nauseous. Being a petit lady, I was able to curl up in the two seats and slept.

When I woke up, we were almost in Accra. Many were grumbling about the bad road, others were cursing at the government for embezzling and not taking his work seriously, others just wanted to urinate. I joined the men who wanted to urinate and entered the bush. Some looked on shocked. I looked back sympathetically saying in my head, I know we will never meet again. So I will not have my bowels burst because of you. When we reached Accra, I got down at the Ofankor Barrier and went to my mother’s house. I was warmly received but everyone realized that I was limping. They were worried because they knew I was not a good patient. I hate taking any form of medication.

I told them it was not serious, which they knew were lies because I wouldn’t be limping if that were true. I helped in packaging the snacks until the people started to arrive, I then changed my clothes but one woman who was helping us suddenly said she wanted to leave because she had no clothes to wear. I decided to give her my little sister’s clothes she brought to me since I could not wear it anyway, so she would give it back later and lend her support. The ceremony was beautiful, many people thronged to the place but many servers were found. They took the parcels and gave more than four to some individuals while others had none. One woman collected and asked for her husband and brothers’ parcels though they did not attend. I looked on not knowing what will be the right thing to say.

My mother came around fuming as to where the many parcels were that many people were complaining having nothing. Her friend just told her what was happening and I just nodded. I do not know what happened later but many people were angry and many others left. My uncles were glad to see me and I was also glad to see them. When everything ended, we were glad. It was such a beautiful ceremony. But I could not stand the pain I was feeling in my right leg. So I was molested to take some painkillers and found myself waking up in the evening. I asked for my little sister’s clothes but the woman had gone with it. Many people called her to bring it and she promised to bring it the next day.

At about 6:30 pm, the lights went off, so I had to drift back to sleep again only to wake up at 4:000am to see the lights back on. I woke up and took my bath and made some calls to get some people to come for their monies with me. We tidied up the house and I told them I had to go back to tamale before Monday because I did not ask for permission. One of my mother’s friends who lived at Kumasi asked that I go with her because she had a free ride to Kumasi. Still, the woman failed to pick her calls and will not return my sister’s clothe, so I forgot about her. At 2:30pm, we bid the household goodbye after I asked my grandmother to bless me, which she gladly did.

I was impressed our ride was filled with lecturers heading back to their campuses after some conference in Accra. I sat and immediately, I was fascinated at the faces I was seeing. Those of lecturers’ I knew who knew me not. A particular one was a loud mouthed lecturer who everyone feared, a woman who was called Dr. Azuma. She looked fabulous and not a day older than forty. I remembered her because she always made noise in the exams hall and she gave fill ins as her exams. A very dear fried offered her course so I knew her very well.

I grumbled my thoughts on her aggressive attitude and engaged in a conversation with one of the lecturers. I mentioned that they should take their time in assessing students as thoughts of students counted more than chewing and pouring. To this, the man laughed and said yes, but in some cases, chewing and pouring mattered. As we embarked on the journey, he had a call and spoke at length about some students who think lecturers do not mark their scripts.

I told him bluntly that yes, most lecturers do not mark their scripts. I told them that I knew a lecturer who gave me the same marks I had from first to last year no matter what I wrote. He and others got on the defensive but I stood my grounds and the lecturer ended up saying he would never wish for a student like me; a student who tested lecturers to see if they mark their scripts or not. To this, they all laughed.

From where I sat, I could hear Dr. Azuma’s shrilled voice telling her colleagues of an incident where a student stole her purse and she threatened talking to her gods for the culprit to die. According to her, the students were so afraid that they brought their parents to come and plead on their behalf as the students found ways of bringing back her purse. She was so amused that tertiary students could believe in such gibberish, that even I had to laugh. I reckoned this was pure psychology at play. The conversation geared towards policemen arresting vehicles and the lecturers get defensive as to how horrifying it is that people like “Lil Win”; a local comedian, are widely known when most lecturers are not known. To this many of them agreed and laughed. One lecturer mentioned that some policemen stop vehicles under false pretenses just to get some tip of some sort. So he hung a suit in his car and arranged many books at the back of his car for the policemen to know that he knows books so must not be bothered. I was amused. Lecturers who want to be known certainly must do something extraordinary. If you are an engineering lecturer who has never put together a child’s “abungele” lorry, how do you become famous?

The conversation moved on to the economy and they said that the “dumsↄ” has turned into “dumdum”. Most of them laughed when one said that the president thought he could handle this position when he had no clue as to how it could be managed. When we were close to Kumasi, someone called one of them and said that there was lights out in Kumasi. Everyone called to verified and the catch question “How is your Mahama status?” was formed. Meaning do you have light in your area or not? The lecturer who sat close to me asked what I did for a living. I told him I was a teacher and told him the number of classes I handled. He was impressed but said he would look for my question papers every term since I criticized his people so much. I laughed and got down in Kumasi to continue my journey up north.

When I got down, a long journey driver offered me a lift to the OA station for a bus to wherever. There were no buses climbing northward, so I took a taxi to the Aboabo station. It was drizzling so badly. The driver played around getting a wife out of his passenger and I laughed at his bad attempt at realizing his goal. Immediately I got down at Aboabo, a nice gentlemen held my hands and led me to the front seat of a Benz bus. I did not know what to do or say. I asked him where he thought I was going to and he said he knew I was going to Tamale and needed someone who could talk to him on the way so he would not sleep. He reckoned I was just the person. He begged that I travelled with him. Looking at the bus and the six hour drive, I thought, what could happen? And let it go.

Some girls who looked like “Kaya yei” sat on the seat behind me. There were a few women in the car and a few other men. They made so much noise I could not breathe. The driver made many calls while driving that I did not know what to tell him. On his eight call, I tried engaging in the conversation he so wanted and asked him about his experiences with policemen. He said they were as corrupt as ever, taking two cedis every time. I then asked him about the corrupt drivers and said:

“Most drivers will not do the right thing. They drink and drive, they over speed, they do wrong overtakings, they receive calls when they are driving thereby ending up in killing many people. What are the corrupt police to do?”

He immediately put away his phones and concentrated on the driving apologizing in the process. I decided to sleep because I was not in the mood to engage in needless talks. So I closed my eyes and sat there, hearing everything going on around me and seeing with my brain. The driver chewed chewing stick so noisily, he put that somewhere and took to chewing gum noisily and still I pretended to sleep. We ended up stuck at the border. For two hours our vehicle stood still. People who sold mangoes with children strapped on their backs shouted loudly for passengers to buy their mangoes. Many other hawkers were seen parading around our car shouting loudly in advertisim. The boarder was opened around 3am and we had a quiet journey until we reached Tamale, slowing down only when animals decided to organize their beauty pageant while crossing the busy road. We reached at around 6am and the driver who was glad that I had opened my eyes asked if I would be able to sleep during the day since I slept throughout the journey. I just smiled and got down, grateful to have arrived in one piece, boarded a taxi and came straight to my house.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2/06/2014.



My father was the very best friend of the chief of our village and so wielded so much power. Our household was one of the most important in the village and many people would die to marry someone from my home. But no one wanted to marry me. They thought I was either too short or too ugly. I did everything I could to be beautiful enough to attract suitors to no avail. My only consolation was that I was good academically.

I had two sisters and three brothers. I was the fourth of six children from the same parents although my father had three wives. My first crush was a farmer; slim and tall who loved holding his gun in his left hand and his machete in his right hand while clothed in dirty long sleeved shirt and trousers. He was a very dark man, strong with a sparkly white neatly arranged set of teeth. But ours was not to be as he picked one of my elder sisters as his bride. I was devastated, I cried and feigned sickness for over three months. I did not take part in their marriage ceremony and developed an unfair hatred for my brother in law who knew nothing of my feelings for him. He always tried to be nice to me but I shunned his company. I was happy when Brother Abdulai’s mother requested he migrated with his new bride to her village to oversee her farms because she was growing old. Maybe the words “out of sight, out of mind” may have some truth to it, because with time, I found myself having no thoughts of Brother Abdulai, neither did I have that dreadful heartache whenever my sister Larki’s name was mentioned.

The chief, Sagbonwura Naa Kampaya was a very kind man. He was always nice to me. So nice that I found myself drifting to the land of daydreams whenever his thoughts crossed my mind. Once, I was walking around my father’s house in just a piece of cloth. I turned around coyly and met Naa’s intense gaze. He just looked at me and smiled and beckoned me into his arms. He embraced me and asked, why have I not seen this beautiful you? You are so pretty, so much so that I will have to marry you and treat you better than all my wives. I thought that was the most romantic scene ever and wanted that to happen in reality. But too bad, it was all in my fantasy. It was a funny feeling, because the chief was older than my father. He was about sixty five years old while I was twenty four. When I could no longer bear it, I told Naa about it but he candidly but kindly told me not to have those fantasies about him. He told me that he was so flattered but loved me too much to waste my life that way. He assured me that I would get a husband who will love me and care for me in the near future and advised that I desist from thinking of marrying someone whose life is almost over. I felt broken hearted once more but it was not as painful as the first one. The way Naa said it made me hopeful.

I know you may think I was not that old, but for a woman to be 24 years without any prospective suitor during that time in Sagbon meant the woman was too cantankerous or ugly. And I would have preferred to be the former than the latter. By the time I turned 25 years, I had completed training college with the help of a government scholarship and the encouragement of my father. My mother died when I was 15 but my father’s wives replaced her. My father had over twenty children who were either interested in farming or fishing. Only one of my elder brothers and myself were interested in education. My sisters never took any interest in education. My father encouraged me despite the fact that most men thought educating a girl was preposterous. This was because he thought I at least needed to be able to take care of myself in the future if it so happens that I end up with no husband. Not that he told me in plain words, he was talking to one of his kinsmen but my eavesdropping made my ears the sad hearer of his view.

I was posted to Nsawie Basic School for my national service. I went there expecting my fate to change where marriage was concerned. And yes, I got a fine man who said he was interested in me. I sent money home often but I still had money because I was not extravagant. This man only visited when he wanted money. Sometimes he would come there three times and then ask for money on the fourth day. I gave him everything he wanted because I knew I had nothing where beauty was concerned. He promised to marry me but that was not to be as he finally wedded a very beautiful woman from Nsawie. That day, I felt like killing myself. I was so sad that I could drink poison without a thought. Then I met a dedicated Islamic woman who exuded peace.

Mma Meimunatu was that woman whose smile could calm every storm in every life. She assured me that everything will be okay and that I will find a good Muslim who will marry and cherish me. Mma advised me to think of myself as beautiful and to have the confidence because I was beautiful. She even said that being tall is not a good feature in women and that very tall men loved very short women. I nearly believed her but for the mirror in my room that told me to look at reality.


My very eldest brother died when I was 27 years old, the next one died the following year and my father followed that same year. I was devastated. My eldest sister; Harina, came from her husband’s village and so did Larki. Our only brother who had married a Nigerian to the detriment of my family also came. The funeral was a sad one. No one died in Sagbon without a superstition hovering around him or her. I heard that, the spirit that made me short was killing the good men in my family. How could such an intelligent lady be that short and ugly. I also heard that, the women in the family were witches and were killing them one after the other so that we could become the men of the house. An old lady, Mma Amina, who was over hundred years old was also purported to have been killing the young ones in order to stay alive.

My sisters and I were not happy so we consulted an oracle who told us that one of our father’s brothers was killing the men who may be a hindrance in his quest to be the sole heir of our grandfather’s properties which included two compound houses and many plantations of cocoa. My only brother who migrated to Accra with his wife failed to return home after that for fear of being driven to his early grave. I transferred to Sagbon Secondary School as a Catering teacher. The grown students made fun of me with some calling me “kakapuipui” and others just making fun of me, but I endured.

One sunny day, a man who was 15 years my senior met me and proposed instantly. I did not know what to say. I had given up on marriage a long time ago. At first, I thought he was making fun of me, then I realized he was serious when he asked me to send him to my family for the marriage rites. Before I realized what was happening, I was married to this gentleman. He had a wife and four children who despised me. I stayed in their family house for three years while constructing my own and bore all the maltreatment they could mete out. Unfortunately for me, I was told that I would not be able to give birth because of my height. My husband was not disturbed, I reckoned it was because he already had children. I was very sad because I was being called all sorts of names: Childless Shorty, Ugly Doo and many others. I resolved to move into my house and my husband decided to move in with me.

But problems started as my sisters started fighting because of their children. I was not interested in their problems so called our only brother to help resolve the issue. He did not mind me and his tone gave signals of not wanting to be disturbed. I sent a delegation to his house hoping he would heed to the call of his roots, but his Nigerian wife sacked them. Those who went claimed he had been bewitched by his wife. They even brought a message from his wife that I should never send the food items I send occasionally to her house again because she believed I had evil intentions towards her husband. It dawned on me, the possibility of my brother’s Nigerian wife thinking his Ghanaian Husband’s sisters were witches.

I resolved never to bother him again and to be the man of my family. I had money and prestige, I even had a husband so my voice was heard. But there is a saying that “the cock may dance with flair in the midst of hawks but they will never see it as anything other than food” my luck changed when many men came to my house one afternoon wielding machetes and sticks. I climbed into one of my small pans and came out when all was calm to see my poor husband in his pool of blood. I came out shouting only to be caught, shaved and brought to this witch camp. My sisters looked on, shaking their heads in awe and hooting at me, I heard nothing, I only saw their faces and decided to close my ears. There was nothing to live for. My husband was dead and my sisters did not need me, they thought the worst of me. My husband was not young, he may have married me for the security of his old age, but he loved me, loved me enough to have stood up and died rather than telling the people where I was.

And so brethren, there is the story of my life. The story about my life and the love of my life.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.

Picture by Andre Stephano.



Sahada breathes, blinks and thinks for a moment about the act her eyes witnessed here in Kasimui seconds ago, did she just see a child banged to the wall, beheaded and brought back to life by the man? And look, another man is cutting himself with a knife but there is no sign of a cut or blood. She must ask;

Excuse me Sir, please which festival is this?

The man looks her from head to toe and asks in his local language Kasimna if she is from these parts. She replies in the affirmative in her broken Kasimna. Then she follows the man’s eye from her chest downwards. She is wearing a sleeveless top, a chain, a push up brazier that is helping her breast stand erect, tight jeans which leaves no room for air, and a long weave on tied in a chignon to accentuate her beauty. She turns her eyes from herself to the other women and ladies around and realizes what is causing the man this horror. All the women are wearing ‘agbada’ that cover every part of the bodies except their faces and their fingers. They are also wearing headgears which hide whatever hair there are on their heads. The young girls are also dressed in like manner but some have a little bit of legs showing. She instinctively cleans her mouth with her handkerchief and her red lipstick stains the white handkerchief. Suddenly feeling like a chick in the midst of hawks as more eyes turn upon her in judgment, she manages to announce;

‘Mma Amina Muniru is my grandmother and my father is Baba Wataru, I am looking for …’

Before she could utter another word, a queer short and wrinkly looking old woman comes forward and looks her in the eyes, turns her around and exclaims;

‘Wↄi! It is really his daughter’

she goes on to wail mentioning the name of her father in every wailing sentence. Three women come forward with their cover cloths to cover what she now sees as her nakedness, but one gets to her first. The stench from the cloth and the stern looks from the men force a short apologetic smile onto her face. She regrets having forced her father to allow her make the trip alone. She is led into a huge compound of mud houses where she is given a calabash with muddy water which she declines to the horror of the elders.

She is forced to change into one of her grandmother’s clothes which smelt like the earth at its best. Mma Amina asks her what she is doing in the village. She tells her about her deal with her father to stay in the village for a year after which she will be sent abroad for further studies. She divulges this with difficulty as her grip on her mother tongue had been taken over by the English language. Mma Amina welcomes her with a number of rules after going through her luggage. The rice, oil and canned fishes are for special celebrations like Salah, her taste in clothes is a sin, because their customs do not promote women who provoke men to sin and the Quran forbids jumpy breasts in revealing clothes. She nods her head but immediately regrets, because of the shocking looks on the faces of the women gathered. One of them tells her it is gross disrespect to nod when an elder speaks to you, you must respond with words.

She mutters her sorry and immediately misses her home in Accra. She remembers her mother’s hometown in Akyem Akrokere. Although the telecommunications network there is poor, there is freedom of speech and expression, there is freedom in choosing clothes to wear, there is freedom in almost everything. The only problem there is that many of the villagers loved to gossip and never ceased to tell people to their faces that they are children of white people because they speak adulterated Akan and act like westerners. Never had Sahada thought anyone could live this antiquated life in these modern times. She wonders how she is going to be able to live here for a whole year. She is brought out of her day nightmare with a question as to whether she will go with them to the festival grounds or rest in the room. She chooses the former when she remembers the beheading and resuscitation of the little boy and the many scary wonders. Hey meat, better to be among the cats than be in hiding she whispers to herself.

During the merry making, she is able to pick up a bit of information about the “challenge me festival” which happens to be a festival where the best spiritualists and the best herbalists are crowned with respect. Those who lost their hands and part of their bodies when they tried to exhibit their prowess are still being tended to by the powerful ones. Those who died in the challenge are given a not so good burial. The reality that there is no electricity in this village hit her like a punch from a demon. She shrivels with fear anytime she hears a sound from any the trees or the bushes that sit around them like gigantic lions who are guarding edible animals, there is always the possibility of the guards turning into the danger.

Sahada lies on the mat in between two young women who may be her age mates but look older. She finds it difficult to breathe as the stench from their armpits hold hands with the hot air in the room and together fight her nose, tears well up in her eyes as she thinks of her empty air conditioned room and very soft bed in Accra. Everything is going against her, the mosquitoes, the sounds of the night, the rats that sniff them for God knows what etc.

Just when sleep is most sweet, Sahada hears her name being called, she gets up to realize the other girls are holding buckets; obviously ready to go to the stream to fetch water. She has never carried a bucket of water before, not even in her mother’s hometown. She is handed a bucket, without being told, she follows them like an obedient dog, saying nothing throughout the long walk. Immediately the bucket of water touches her head pad, she feels a sharp pain in her neck and down goes the bucket and its content. They fetch another and place it on her head, mid-way to the house, she trips and falls and the water and dirty metal bucket roll down into the bush.

She goes for her bucket but refuses to get back to the stream alone to fetch another bucket, knowing she cannot even carry the bucket by herself. When they get home, one of her aunts upon hearing the stream drama yells out:

‘Wataru really has given that Christian wife of his the chance to spoil his children, just look at a grown woman not being able to carry a bucket of water? Who do you suppose must fetch water for you to bath?’

This reprimand brings tears to her eyes and her mood falls to 100% sadness. She knows now; she hates her father’s village, she hates their house, their rooms, even most of the people in the village. As the day passes, she withdraws into herself. She is tired of the food, which is always tuo zaafi in the evening and Hausa porridge in the morning. She has no friend; she hates the very scorch weather, the muddy drinking water, and hard work on the farms. Each day she counts the days left for her to go to Accra in preparation for her studies abroad. She is now eighteen years and she is living like a very primitive old woman, thanks to her father. She now realizes why her mother was not in support when her father suggested this. Her curiosity has made her bite more than she can chew, now her mouth hurts.

The lack of technology she reckons is not without advantages. The people meet in the evenings according to their gender to tell stories, sing and dance together. The trees have become her very tight companions on days without farm activities. She decides to refrain from engaging in any conversations with anyone unless she needs to. This resolution materialized when she was made to understand that females can never express themselves when males are talking, even if those males happen to be young boys.

There is one thing Sahada tries so much to understand with no success, the fact that old men get to choose the beautiful young girls whose parents force them to agree to their proposals. They are in the worst case scenario. Throughout her stay in this village, she had known everyone in the house, or so she thought, until a girl named Rahamatu is forced out flanked by three watch women after a night of heavy preparations of food and drinks (pito). It is obvious that the women fear the weeping girl would run away. Sahada is told Rahamatu’s groom happens to be a sixty seven year old man with three wives who promised the head of their family a vast piece of land and some cattle if he gave the hand of Rahamatu to him in marriage. The family head, Alhaji Mutala Wataru agreed with a speed of lightening. And so Rahamatu who defied him by running to her mother’s village in Piisim was brought back and locked in a separate room for months until her marriage party today. Sahada puts herself into the shoes of Rahamatu and weeps with her. Almost all the women in the house shouts on both of them, saying Rahamatu is being melodramatic and pretentious when she should be celebrating for haven found herself a rich man. They shouted on Sahada to mind her own business and advised that she prays for a man as wealthy as Alhaji Tanko. Sahada forbids it in her head and enters the room she shares with the women with the excuse that she is nursing a headache. She thinks about this throughout the evening and can make no excuses for the elders, for what she sees as grave greed.

She finds friendship with a high school dropout Zuma who claimed bad spirits ended his education. According to him, one of his father’s sisters charmed his brain and made him daft. Sahada tries to understand the possibility of that happening but she gives up, knowing that Kasimui is not a place to try understanding anything.

Sahada sits under one of the trees writing poetry when she sees a child playing football. This child suddenly jumps, holds his leg and falls. She gets up and goes to see what the problem is and sees an animal that looks like a rat run into the bush, obviously after biting him. She calls out for help, within minutes almost all the people in the village surround the boy. The first man who touches him shouts that the boy is dead. They ask Sahada what happened to him and she narrates what she saw. The boy’s father and mother wail openly. Everyone sympathizes with them but the man refuses to be consoled because as it turns out, the boy was his only male child. He calls for the head spiritualist in the village, whose service is expensive, to come and tell him what exactly happened to his boy. Baba Munkaila, Sahada deduces from the conversation circulating around is a very sad man. Almost all his male children die before the age of two. The only one that has survived until now happens to be Abu, the one who just passed on. He is known as one who never shows his emotions but can be very persistent.

Baba Bubububu; the fearful spiritualist, upon jumping around, shouting in undecipherable words says Munkaila’s eldest wife happens to be the witch who turned into that animal that bit Abu. The woman who was standing there crying her eyes out suddenly develops two other heads and horns and lion like canines in the eyes of all the people gathered, Sahada reckons. Every eye feasts on her with disdain. The mother of Abu; Asana throws herself at Mma Feruza and asks her to kill her too. Munkaila stands mouth agape not knowing what to say and the men around holds Mma feruza, ties her like a bunch of firewood, carries her and follows Baba Bubububu.

Baba Bubububu said no one is to shift the corpse until he talks to Mma Feruza’s witch queen. So they cover Abu and leave the scene, Sahada’s legs refuse to carry her from the supposed corpse of the boy. She goes closer after sometime and thinks she saw the boy move. She remembers her father saying palm oil, and some leaves he showed her, mixed together brings out poison from people. She runs to the house and gets the palm oil potion ready. She pours it into the mouth of Abu and holds his nose together with his lips in hopes her eyes did not deceive her. After what seems like years in four minutes, the boy wakes and vomits some greenish slimy substance, then sits up asking for his father. Sahada realizes the boy is so weak so sends him to her house. After a while, it dawns on her that Mma Feruza may be suffering on account of Abu’s perceived demise.

She gives the boy some food and drags him to Baba Bubububu’s shrine. Sahada carries Abu on her back because he is still weak. What greets Sahada’s mind sends her sprouting onto the ground with Abu. Mma Feruza has been tied to a pole, obviously beaten to a pulp and looks like she is panting for breathe. Sahada screams that the child is alive; everybody turns to look at the boy who runs towards Mma Feruza. The boy cries out loud for them to free Mma Feruza. Baba Bubububu looks on obviously looking caught but recovers enough to say his intensified whippings forced the woman to wake the dead boy. Sahada shouts that the boy had only collapsed because of the poison and narrated what she did to revive him. But Baba Bubububu shuts her up with the a loud shrilled voice. He goes on to say Sahada has committed a taboo and so needs to be his wife so as to be able to pacify the gods for her disrespect.

Sahada takes to her heels straight into her house. She picks the electrifier her mother gave her and electrocutes anyone who comes close to her. With that, she runs into the bush never stopping until she meets a portable road. She kneels by the roadside but cars will not stop to help her.  She collapses by the side of the road.

Sahada wakes up receiving greetings from a white ceiling. For a moment, she cries thinking she is still in her dream. But in the end, she is tapped and asked if she is alright. She responds in the affirmative and asks how she came to be here. A woman tells her, she saw her by the roadside almost lifeless, so she brought her here. She asks if there is a way to contact her family. Sahada gives her her mother’s mobile phone number.

Mrs. Wataru couldn’t believe her eyes and her ears. She scolded her husband for allowing their daughter to go through such an ordeal. Mr. Wataru apologises saying he merely wanted her to get the feel of the village life so she will know about her root. They thank the woman who introduces herself as Abigail Tetteh, and thanks her. They take their daughter home. When they reach home, they are greeted by no other than Alhassan their security man who informs them that Mma Amina and two elders are waiting for them in the hall. Mrs. Wataru sends her daughter through the back door to her room. Asked about their mission to the house, they narrate that Baba Bubububu says if Sahada does not come to the village to be his wife, all the family members will die. She stresses that all other options has been rejected by the chief priest.

Mr. Wataru asks them to look for his daughter for him as he has no intention of believing in a spiritualist who does not know his left from right. He asks his mother and the elders to get back to the village and look for his daughter before he ascends on them with policemen. The three people leave for the village.

Three months later, Mr. Wataru sends his daughter abroad for further studies and travels to the village to see his folks. He tells them that he needs to take his daughter back to Accra with him so they must produce the girl no matter what. The elders lead him with attired policemen to the shrine of Baba Bubububu who, upon interrogation of his household, took to his heel immediately he was told Mr. Wataru had come to the village. He assembles his elders and tells them to try as much as possible to think carefully about certain things before taking action or consulting the said oracles. He tells them it is time to revise some of their beliefs as some are too antiquated for modern usage. She asks after Mma Feruza and is told she passed away after that ordeal. She stresses that traditions and beliefs that take innocent lives must never be encouraged and leaves the Kasimui village swearing in his head never to allow any of his children step foot in that village again.

He says in his head that it is better to keep them in limbo than to make the whereabouts of his daughter known, because that will rekindle their superstition and ruin the life of his innocent child.




Agbada: An African cloth sewn and worn to cover every part of the body.

Wↄi: A local exclamation of amazement or shock.

Pito: A local drink made of millet in the Northern part of Ghana.



Back in august 2015, on a very sunny Sunday stood a family that is reuniting after four years of separation. The Apau family was a happy family. The love the mother and father exhibited was inculcated into their only seed, Angel. Her intelligence had earned her a place in the University of Ghana, Legon and her forceful parents and helpful aunt had made it possible for her to attend her dream school. The loving parents travelled from their village to accompany her to campus for the first time and they could not hide their happiness upon seeing her.

“You have grown into a very beautiful young lady Angel, my daughter. Just four years in the city here has changed you completely. I pray you’ll continue to be respectful to your aunt so you can be able to complete your ‘unibokity’ in the city. Men are to be feared, you know I am one of them so if I tell you to fear my gender you must pay heed. I am not saying you should not date, all I am saying is that make sure you are sure before getting into anything.”

Ei Daddy, it is not ‘unibokity’ it is university. Angel said.

Hmm, you know some of us were not lucky as you people are today. The farthest we could go was form four.

Say that again. Mrs. Apau lamented.

Ok daddy, I’ve heard all that you’ve said and I will do my possible best to abstain from all the bad things and be respectful.

Mr. and Mrs. Apau then bid their daughter goodbye at the lorry station as the vehicle zoomed past them. In the same university was a handsome fair coloured boy called Henry. His mother was a Ghanaian from Obomeng Kwahu and his father was an Englishman. He was handsome, gentle, god-fearing and kind, because of this, almost all the girls on campus were dying for him.

The first time he saw Angel, his heart skipped a beat but he decided to study her for some time. A month and two days later, he was going to the Balm library and bumped into her.

   Oops, sorry gentleman I…

Don’t you worry, it was my fault Henry muted,

I wasn’t looking straight, I am sorry.

They got a little carried away until Henry broke the silence

Please, may I know your name miss?

My name is Angel. Angel managed to say in her breathlessness.

There is no doubt about it, you look just like an angel,

He said with perspiration.

I am Henry Richards, A medical student and you? I am also in the communication department.

 They became friends and soon became lovers.

The love between them was so strong that they got to know each other’s family. Angel’s aunt was pleased but not convinced after meeting him but soon got to know him and liked him as a true gentleman and Henry’s parents were enthused to meet Angel. They were marveled by her beauty, politeness and respectfulness not to talk about her pure African complexion, very dark and beautiful.

They advised both of them and went overseas where they lived as they only came to visit their son. A year and a half later, Henry completed his university education and had to leave for Britain for his masters. On that faithful day, both Angel and Henry were sad to be separated from each other, they cried and ended up sleeping together. A terrible thought escaped Henry’s mind when he was on board the plane, what if Angel gets pregnant? He was annoyed with himself for letting himself get carried away after waiting for so long. He shrugged at the thought after remembering the promise they made to each other. He knew that he had her cell phone number and could get in touch with her any time.

Six months after Henry’s departure, Angel felt lonely as she had no friend apart from Henry. Though he usually called, she lived and suffered a terrible loneliness that threw her off her guard. A very persistent man named Sly never ceased giving her presents and she encouraged it. Before she realized what was happening, she was in a relationship with him. She started ignoring Henry’s calls because Sly pampered her in every way. Sly bought a new cell phone for her and she did not bother to inform henry about it. She also chose not to reply Henry’s letters. This worried him very much that he rung his dearest friend who was in Kumasi to check on her to see if she was alright. Lo and behold, when he arrived in Accra, he got to know the whole truth. He personally advised her and she accepted. So Mark left leaving contacts to watch over her but they also confirmed within a number of days that she was still doing what she was before.

Mark had no choice but to inform his friend about the worrisome news but he also regretted because his father phoned him later and told him that Henry had been in coma ever since. Eight days after getting well, he attempted suicide. But for the intervention of his father’s housemaid, he would have joined his ancestors. All advice fell on deaf ears so his father suggested that he flew down to witness things for himself. Three days later, he landed in Ghana and without resting, conducted a long search but couldn’t find her. Her aunt complained bitterly about her attitude since Henry travelled much to the detriment of Henry. He waited at her aunt’s and almost dozed off.

At about 1:00 am, a flashy VMW came to drop her and he came back from his reverie. He quickly got up and met her at the main gate. Immediately Angel saw him, she feigned headache for though he had become a little lean, he looked gorgeous in his parker and t-shirt. She told Henry that she needed some sleep but Henry insisted on talking to her so much so that she had no choice but to oblige. Henry took her to his apartment. On the way, he said nothing but could feel the tension between them. On arrival, he brought the discussion.

So do I sense the danger of us separating?

What makes you think that? I know it is because of what your friend told you. Angel said.

Are you saying that all that Mark told me were false? Henry asked.

Tell me Angel and I will believe you because of the love we share. He spoke with such emotions that all her defenses got broken. She was short of words.

I am not saying they are not true but bu… you.. see

Angel, what do I see? I see that I left the shores of Ghana with each of us promising ourselves to be faithful but not long after, you go around flirting with God knows who.

The anger and hurt with which he spoke scared Angel.

“Ok, I will tell you everything”

She was almost on the verge of tears.

When you left, I felt so lonely that I needed a companion, you know, someone to care for me. You also knew very well that my aunt couldn’t provide me with everything I needed. Angel said, not even convinced of the impact of the words she has uttered.

Angel, are you saying that you didn’t receive all the monies I sent? What are you saying? Even if it wasn’t enough, you could have told me other than living this promiscuous life. You know my parents are well off.  You could have asked me even if I was broke, I could have found a part time job to make up for whatever you needed. You know I will do anything, just anything to see you happy. Is it because of the love I shower on you that you treat me this way? What did I do wrong? Where did I go wrong?

Angel begun shedding tears and apologizing, it broke Henry’s heart to see her cry that his comfort ended them in the arms of lovemaking. She woke to find Henry looking at her, she told him that she loved him and that she was ashamed of herself and promised never to do such a thing again. Henry was convinced when the words were spoken for she felt her remorse. He got engaged to her and this time went as far as going with her to the village to meet her real parents. On arrival, he went back to Britain and found himself a part time job swearing to himself to make her happy as she didn’t want her to ask for anything from her parents.

He showered gifts upon gifts on her and made sure she lacked nothing. Unknowingly to Angel, Sly was an armed robber, he went on one of his operations and got killed in the process. This news hid Angel like a blow because she was secretly seeing him. She vowed to be faithful to Henry; after all, he was her true love. This promise became history as Angel met Max who claimed to be a lecturer in at the Central University. Her aunt talked to her but she wouldn’t listen. This time, she received Henry’s calls and replied his letters as though everything was alright. Six months later, when Henry’s mother came to visit, she heard all the bad things about Angel and being a good mother sensed danger because of the deadly diseases in modern times. She decided to inform his son but remembered what happened the last time Mark delivered one such message. She called Angel and advised her like the daughter she never had.

Even though she thanked her like a good girl, she continued her bad ways. Mrs. Richard had no option but to tell her son because she was all she had and did not want him to end up with a harlot. What even scared her was the rumour circulating that Angel had HIV/AIDS. Henry cried and thought about Angel and couldn’t accept the mere thought of living without her. This time, he couldn’t think of murdering himself because of the many guards his dad hired to keep watch over him. He became so lean, he was fortunate that he had completed his masters before receiving this deadly news. He reluctantly stopped calling her and tried his best not to have anything to do with her again and this nearly cost him his life, for Angel was his first love.

He thought of how a girl who didn’t appreciate her one bit could make her suffer when many girls adored him when some girls would die to have him to themselves. He contemplated on the issue but had no answer. Meanwhile, Max was all over Angel everywhere they went, not knowing that he was a killer for a very powerful herbalist, he was a real murderer.  He pretended he loved Angel and spent so much on her. Thoughts of Henry erased completely from her mind. One day, he asked Angel to accompany him to a place he termed a surprise for her. When they arrived at their so called destination, he took her out of the car blindfolded. He took her to the herbalist. Immediately they reached the room, he removed the blindfold. There was the herbalist in his full scary regalia, face half painted and eyes wide opened with mouth twitched in satisfaction upon seeing a new person who would increase his potency. When she saw the predicament she was in, she made an attempt to scream but her mouth was sealed with dirty rags, the boys there gang raped her until she became unconscious. They then left her to regain her consciousness.

When she did, she was taken to a room and maltreated for a whole month without proper food. She was always tied together with the other victims and beaten when she refused to eat foods that were always drugged. Their thirst was never quenched they were only entitled to a full glass of water every day. Blood was drawn from her veins any time there was need for human blood. They had to attend nature’s call on themselves until the human cleaner, who was wicked than any of the people there, came to wipe them clean with a metal like sponge. One day, Max entered her room and asked her to say her last prayers. She couldn’t help shedding tears, this time, real tears of shame, pain and sorrow. She cried and asked why he was doing that. She asked him what terrible thing she did to merit the treatment being meted out to her. She was a total mess. Max decided to choose some other person to the slaughter house and left her with her tears.

After two weeks of aunt Ama’s search for Angel without success, she became very worried because though she had become more of a harlot recently, she always called and said where she was and whether or not she would be coming. Aunt Ama’s strange feelings forced her to report to the police and the media with promises of a huge ransom for those who came with any lead as to where she could be. Both electronic and print media advertised to plead with anyone who had information to report for a handsome reward. Her aunt in her desperation called to inform Henry who was reluctant to come down. But his father convinced him to help the poor woman look for her missing niece.

To him, her aunt was so good and honest to Mr. Richards that he used all his tactics to convince his son to help her in the search of her niece. Henry did as he was told and brought along his friend Mark who had become a very good detective. He investigated the background of Max on campus, with persuasion and the help of brown paper (bribe) he found all there was to know about him. Even the so called hard core criminals feared Max. Meanwhile, Angel was about to be killed when a storm broke and destroyed part of the building so they left her and went to see to the repairs of the building. They had by then beaten her to an extend that she had a bruised face and was almost paralyzed. She then thought of her dear Henry who could not hurt a fly, she thought of how she loved him, how funny he was, how caring he was. She bit into her lower lips, sobbed and prayed that God forgives her her sins. She always prayed for protection for Henry.

Oh! How she wished she could turn the hands of time, she would have remained faithful and loyal to Henry alone no matter what anybody had to offer, but that was too late. How could she allow herself to be lured into this mess? Immediately Henry and Mark got to know of the suspected place Angel was rumoured to be, they went there with armed policemen. Luckily, Mark had a microscope that allowed him to see through every building. He saw about four people who were tied with rope but couldn’t tell if Angel was part or not. The policemen surrounded the house and some went into the house but it wasn’t that easy because the security of the herbalist was very tight. In their struggle to rescue those who were at the verge of death, six policemen died and thirty three of security men of the herbalist’s died. At last, the police were able to arrest the accomplices of the herbalist but the herbalist himself vanished. Max was killed in the struggle. When the four people were untied, Henry and Mark couldn’t tell which one was Angel and almost gave up hope of finding her among them until Angel begun to cry. Henry couldn’t believe his eyes, he thought it was some cripple before him, but for her neatly arranged teeth, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Henry screamed and passed out. Henry together with the four others was sent to the hospital.

When Henry recovered, he saw to it that Angel was alright but spoke to her casually without eye contact. He encouraged no conversation between them. Any time Angel saw Henry, she tried to beg for forgiveness but he just lifts his hands for silence. When she was in her convalescence stage, he left for Britain without informing her.

When she heard of his departure, she almost fainted but knew that she was responsible for her own loss. She cursed the day she met Max, now deceased and prayed again and again that God forgives her. After her ordeal, Angel became a born again Christian and was very active with her church activities. She also took her education seriously.

Two years later, she became a presenter at one of the famous radio stations in Ghana without a boyfriend. She confessed that she was afraid of men when she was interviewed by a colleague. She said she trusted only one man, that man too might be married with kids. She told her colleague that, he was such an angel but she carelessly threw him away so she will live with the consequences.

There was a secret her aunt had not revealed to her yet because she was asked not to. One fine Saturday, Angel rung her parents Mr. and Mrs. Apau and asked them to spend some time with her because she was on casual leave. When they came, they tried to talk her into marriage as she was twenty eight years of age and their only daughter, but she discouraged that conversation.  It was during one of such misunderstandings that they heard a knock on the door and in came aunt Ama, Mr. and Mrs. Richards and the one person that she had really ever loved; Henry. She immediately shouted his name as tears welled up in her eyes. She went on her knees and begged him for forgiveness amidst tears.

Henry immediately took her into his arms and assured her that all was well. Her parents stood amazed at the sight of this wonderful dream and wished it wouldn’t vanish into thin air. They were brought to life when Angel broke the silence,

Ei auntie Ama, it seems you knew all this and kept it to yourself.

Aunt Ama chuckled and told her how she was asked to monitor her every move to see if she was a completely changed person. She also told her about how sometimes Henry comes down and follows her to church without her knowledge. Henry’s mother declared how shocked she was to see the one time gold digger change into such a born again Christian. Mr. Apau asked Henry if he still loved Angel after all the he had to go through because of her. He replied:

“It was the decision of the heart, I mean, my heart and that of Angel to love each other and there was nothing that neither we nor anyone could do about it. Isn’t it Angel?”

All the people in the hall except Angel chorused

“Exactly” and Angel cried hot tears. Two weeks later, an engagement took place followed by a grand wedding. During their honeymoon in New York, Angel asked her husband a favour to allow her to come back to Ghana to fulfill a promise before heading back to settle in their marital home in Britain.

Her permission was granted and she summoned all the University of Ghana students for an important lecture. She lectured them to stay faithful and loyal to their partners and never give in to those who entice them with gifts, and used her own experience as an example and added that she did not know what would happen to anyone who followed in her footsteps. She stressed on the fact that that herbalist is nowhere to be found no matter how much they search for him. Meaning any one could fall victim any time. She also made sure that the lecture was broadcasted on all the television stations in the country. After the lecture, she was sure that her message would get to all the youth of Ghana.

After the lectures, Henry hugged her as she said thanks through her happy tears of gratefulness once more to her generous and caring husband. The reply was sealed with a kiss.



As young as I was, I knew everything would change when we reached Accra. I knew not what to expect when the vehicle was speeding through the muddy road from the village called Israel, where I stayed for some months with my mother and the man I knew then as my father. So I stayed quiet throughout the journey to Accra. Even my ‘father’s’ mother was alarmed. She repeatedly asked me why I was quiet, with no words to express how I felt, I kept quiet. She bought some roasted yams and gave me some. I was very thankful, for I was very hungry; I ate as hurriedly as a child of five could. Then we reached Accra, Lapaz to be precise.

Everything seemed new to me. The structure of the house was not the same as our family house in Obo Kwahu where I had spent most of my life with my maternal grandmother. (In Obo, our house was built with blocks. It was a nice self contained house with pink tiles in the living room.) . Neither was it like the one in Israel, which was built of mud. This house was built with wood; it had a very spacious compound and a very tall block fenced wall with two big trees situated in the middle of the compound. I looked around and saw a small wooden structure situated near the fenced wall that was opposite the two wooden buildings, then looked right to see another small wooden structure, for that, I immediately knew it was a bathroom because someone was coming out of it with an empty bucket and had only a piece of cloth tied around her chest down. Suddenly, I missed my maternal grandmother and my mother and ‘father’. Without having to rest, my grandmother who asked me to call her Nana introduced me to the people we met at home. They were about seven. One was ‘turning fufu’ while a fat tall man who had only four teeth was pounding it. There were about three people eating and one lady seeing to the soup and stews. The one who had just finished bathing stopped in front of me and observed me keenly. I later learnt that Nana was a chop bar operator. Then I was asked to pound some palm nuts which I did obediently.  After that, I was given some ‘banku’ to eat. I ate hungrily. Before long, I felt like easing myself. But I was so shy to ask where the latrine was. I felt that easing one’s self was a sin and it was also shameful to tell people whom you barely knew that you felt like doing it. So I kept quiet and was bidden to wash the dishes. The plates were many and they kept bringing more. Before I knew what was happening I had defecated on myself.

I never liked Nana much, but my fear and dislike for her increased that very day. She gave me the beatings of my life. Amidst shouts that I was too old to be doing that and asking me repeatedly if I didn’t see the small wooden structure close to the wall just opposite the rooms. After I had calmed a bit, I was given water and soap and was asked to take a bath and wash my clothes. Most of the people assembled pitied me. For aside the fact that I was merely five, I looked younger than my age. I actually am naturally skinny and of average height so I guess I was a sympathetic sight. I did as I was told amidst tears and wishing to go back to the village or to my maternal grandmother. After I had washed down and washed my clothes, I went back to finish washing the dishes. After the food got finished and the customers were gone, which seemed like a long time, I was shown to a room, since there was no mat for me, Nana gave me some big rubber to lay on the bare floor and sleep. Later, she brought me some cover cloth which I was very thankful for because it was very cold and I could feel the cold from the rubber I was lying on which was plastered on the bare cemented floor. I was thankful that at least I had a place to hide my shameful face and also, I had a bit of time of undisturbed peace throughout the night.

As I lay there, I saw through the dark Nana going to sleep on the bed. After some time, I saw a tall and healthy man going to lie by her side. I kept quiet and wished that I was not noticed. I prayed silently for I was taught to be very prayerful as that could save me when I’m going through hard times. The night seemed short, for just when sleep was most sweet, I heard my name being shouted together with ‘lazy girl’ as its qualifier. Before I could open my eyes, water was being poured on me. I got up as quickly as I could for it was cold. I didn’t know the time but I saw that it was still dark. I was told I had to follow some neighbours to fetch water as water was scarce in the area. I was given a small bucket and I followed the grownups to fetch water for the house. The place was a bit far, and there was a standing pipe where people cued for the water. I realized later that I was to fetch water not only for the house, but for the chop bar too.

When it was about 9am, when I felt like my legs would break, I was called to brush my teeth and take my bath. After that I was called by Nana to meet her husband who they all called ‘Oluu’; short form of old man. He was handsome and seemed strict to me. But when he took my hands, I felt he was friendly and that I liked him better than Nana. Then Nana asked me to go and continue fetching water until the barrel was full, then I could come for my food. But Oluu confirmed my thought that he was friendly and good by asking Nana to give me some food first. I ate and after resting for sometime continued with fetching the water. By now, I was very used to the continuous growth of the population in the house. I knew that Nana had two sons staying with her and some close relatives of hers, a man and some women. That was a Saturday.

On Sunday, I didn’t go to church because I had no presentable clothes, as Nana called it, to wear. But I thought otherwise, for I had some clothes which my maternal grandmother bought, and they were beautiful. I fetched water for the house. Some using some to bath while others used some to wash their clothes, it was obviously not enough as the bucket I was using was small, so some of the grownups who couldn’t wait joined me to fetch the water. The chop bar was to operate in the afternoon since it was a Sunday. Although I was sad that I couldn’t go to church, I was relieved that after all, I had time alone to stay at home after the barrel becomes full without anyone shouting at me or threatening to beat me. But I was wrong, apparently, church closed before I could fill the barrel to the brim.

Then I heard:

          “Hey Tawia! Why haven’t you finished filling the barrel?

Were you crawling or what?

 Lazy girl!

 I’ll not tolerate that timid character you inherited from your mother.

Stupid girl!”

 I was made to do more chores after finishing with filling the barrel. I then learnt that I was all alone in my own world.

On Monday, it was worse, Oluu was not there to feel my hunger so I was told to finish filling the barrel and come for food. But as I fetched the water, it was being used, so I never got anywhere. I actually felt that I had been sold to work. And so I worked tirelessly and cried when I could because that was my only consolation. I had no friend, I knew no one and I was consistently insulted and told I was ugly. I was beaten when I did what I’d not been told, or when I was seen to be doing things in a very slow manner.

With time, I became used to seeing children going to school while I worked. I got a friend whom I was told was my cousin, my ‘father’s’ half brother’s daughter. Her name was Eno. Her father was abroad and they lived close to where I used to fetch the water. She fed me every morning so the weak feeling of hunger every morning vanished from my life. I cared less whether I’ll fetch water all day or not. I looked skinnier by the day, and my clothes kept tearing apart. With time, I had no panties to wear. I was now six years old. Oluu had mercy on me and volunteered to teach me at home, he was a teacher. I was very thankful for this because I liked schooling very much. I grew fond of him and was thankful anytime he called me to come to the room for the classes. This was because all the house chores seized for me.

Eno started giving me money because their school was changed for them. So I used some to buy food and saved some. One day, on my way from an errand, I heard a commotion and so I run quickly to see what was happening. Lo and behold, the polythene containing my clothes was outside and Nana was holding a cane. She seeing me and aiming at me was spontaneous. Before I could ascertain what was happening, most of the inhabitants of the house started calling me a thief. Nobody asked me to explain, so I received the canes with aches within my heart and body. By now, I was still not used to the spanking. My body was always full of sores for my skin is naturally very soft. Oluu was not there so when he came, my charge was put before him. He called me:

“Tawia, kneel down.” Oluu said, and I obeyed.

“Tell me why you stole your grandmother’s money. Tell me everything.

I did not steal any money Oluu. Eno gave it to me. She gives me money to buy food most mornings and so I saved some” I said timidly

“She is lying. I saw ten cedis in her bag. Where in God’s name will she get such an amount of money from? This girl is really poisonous. Look at her ugly face, ‘osasaafo, ose nie ose’ ”

Nana said. But Oluu did not mind her and sent for Eno.

Nana as usual was shouting on top of her voice insisting that I was lying. Eno also confirmed that it was true. Nana, accused Eno of being a bad girl by siding with me. She also threatened to tell her mother, which she did. So Eno’s help ceased too. I felt lonelier than before.

Sleeping with Nana also became a bit horrible for me.  I was accused of being a witch just because I yawned loudly one night. Nana in the morning called for all who could come to watch me and told all assembled of how she supposedly caught me red handed trying to fly to my witch camp. According to her, I was calling her name since she was my target for the night but God, opened her ears and she heard it and caught me red handed. All efforts made by Oluu to say that I was merely yawning fell on deaf ears. People hooted and cursed at me as few watched sympathetically whiles Nana continuously slapped me with her hands. When Oluu couldn’t help it any longer;

“Leave the poor girl alone. You’ll kill her. What is this attitude for?”

Then he tore me from her grip but Nana had not finished with me and added Oluu.

“Eh, so Tawia, you have ended up bewitching my husband as well, haven’t you? And you foolish man, you don’t know when you’re spoiling a witch.”

 Oluu on his part did not know how to bandy words with Nana, so he kept quiet and sent me to the room and asked me to calm down, which I gradually did.

On one occasion, I heard Oluu trying to advise Nana to feed me properly as I looked horrible by the day, but Nana only got offended and insulted him very well. Then Oluu insisted that I be allowed to go to church. So he took me to church every Sunday. With time, all the Sunday school teachers became my friends. They continually commended Nana, who was a women’s fellowship leader for having an intelligent girl like me for a grandchild. I took church activities very seriously; sometimes my Sunday school teachers would come and ask for permission for me to join in activities like bible quizzes, singing and drama, which Nana reluctantly permitted. I grew prayerful by the day, hoping that my situation would change in the near future. With time, people asked me to pray for them for one sickness or another and they confessed afterwards that they were healed. Nana became very alarmed with this and forbade me from praying for anyone or to ever participate in any church activity. Oluu tried to change her mind but she was adamant. She gave some more excuses as to why I could not attend church even on Sundays which included; I had no decent clothes to go to church with, thereby embarrassing her with my appearance and there’s nobody at home who will prepare the things for the chop bar. In the end, I stopped attending church once again. But I continued to pray though I had but only a New Testament bible. With time, the chop bar business collapsed.

I was very grateful to the lord because the “too much fetching of water” stopped. So for some time, although I did all the chores in the house, sweeping, fetching water, cleaning, doing the dishes, and running errands for the house, I had some time to rest.

Nana got ashamed one day when I took off my clothes to bath and a church friend of hers saw my one and only panty. It was torn in front and looked very faint due to too much washing. I heard the woman commenting on it and asking Nana to take very good care of me as I looked like an uncared for child. After the woman left, I received another bout of lashes for disgracing her. But the next day, she came home with a panty seller when she went to collect money from her debtors. She asked the woman to give me two of the panties on credit as those owing her refused to pay her that day. This panty seller came there week after week but Nana will run to the room and tell us to tell her that she is not in. one day we all heard the bell of the panty seller, Nana hurriedly ran to the room and warned us to tell her she wasn’t around;

“Children, where is your grandmother? The panty seller asked.

She is gone to the market” I said

“She’s gone to meet someone” Isaac; the son of Nana’s friend said

“No she’s gone to fetch water” I said

“No, she’s going to buy me some food” Isaac said.

 In the end, the panty seller deduced that Nana was in the room and told her that:

“You can keep the money you cunning old woman.

 I know what you do to those who owe you.

I know of course that you’re in that room.

It is money but it is not that much.

So you can keep it.

 Only God will judge you.”

  I felt very bad. For I knew what Nana made me do was a sin against God. But I dared not utter a word. She never came to the house again.


Meanwhile, Nana had a new business. Buying and selling fresh fish. She brought one of her grandsons to stay with us, his name was Yaw. I was thankful for the company but soon, I saw that he could do anything he wanted without any reproach. And I was always responsible for all his misdeeds. I remember having to receive one of those beatings because he decided to play with a knife and got wounded. Nana blamed me for it and I never understood why, knowing that Yaw was stronger and older than I was and if I happened to get on his nerves, he could beat me to a pulp.

There was not much to do but I couldn’t go to our neighbour’s house to watch television. I tried that on two occasions and got seriously thrashed. So I kept to my part of the house without venturing out unless I was sent. Yaw on his part tried everything in his power sometimes to frame me up, so Nana could beat me and he succeeded mostly.

The fresh fish business also collapsed and Nana resorted to making Yaw and I sell ‘krobonko’. This is a green fruit, longer and bigger than a cucumber with sharp lines around it. This fruit is of no use to many. When it dries, people use it as a sponge. In its raw state, some use it in place of garden eggs. Nana will sack me to sell the rest even if it is dark before coming home when I happen to come home with some of the ‘krobonko’. But Yaw could sell one and go to the park to play football, then spend the money and come home to tell Nana that the money got lost and people did not buy it. She’ll simply say that Yaw was a bad boy and ask him to go and eat. With time, people started buying my ‘krobonko’ for sympathy. They wondered why I hawked even in the evenings when most children were sleeping. But I usually said nothing, fearing that Nana had spies around who could report to her and put me into trouble.

Then one day, my maternal grandmother, whom I called Nana Adwoa came to Accra to visit me. She wept when she saw me. But I pretended as though I did not recognize her, partly because I felt she was part of my woes. Had she not connived with my parents to sell me to Nana? Then I heard her quarreling with Nana. I was sent on an errand immediately. When I came back, she was gone. That day, sleep eluded me, I cried silently in my sleep and before I knew what was happening, I had urinated on myself. My cloth was used to tie my head and children in other houses were called to hoot at me. I felt very embarrassed but I knew I was wrong to do that so I cried quietly and washed my clothes and cover cloth after that ordeal.
 I received the greatest shock of my life when Nana asked me to go and have my bath as Oluu was sending me to school. All my tears turned into joy.

On my first day at school, I felt lost. The school; a Presbyterian school, was a very big school. The primary school was farther apart from the Junior Secondary School. I was taken to class one. But I saw to my disappointment that I knew virtually everything that the teacher was teaching. Oluu was the class two teacher so my class teacher told Oluu about this. He still insisted that I remained in class one. By this time, I was about eight years old. When I reached class two, most people in the school knew me because I was very intelligent. Oluu kept teaching me at home, even some of the class five pupils could not compete with me. At home, it was the same old story. I did many house chores and the little time I had, I was taught by Oluu.

Now, Nana was selling baf loaf. One day, on my way to school, I went to look for counters at a bar which was situated by the road side. Then I saw a fifty cedi note on the floor. I gave it to the bar tender who said it must be for one of the people who came to the bar the previous night and asked me to keep it. I gave it to Oluu, who said he would use it to feed me. He did feed me for months. But I later learnt that he used that money to buy a kente cloth and fed me with his own money. I cared less. I wouldn’t have said anything even if he had asked me to give it to him without promising anything. I liked him very much.

On my way from school one day, I saw that we had company. Then Nana told me that my parents are back from the village. I received this news with indifference. Then I saw my mother pounding ‘fufu’. I greeted her and went to change my clothes (which was house attire). I heard later that she and my ‘father’ were to settle in Accra for greener pastures. So my mother will sell some of the baf loaf while my ‘father’ looks for some work. By now, my mother had one more child in addition to the one I knew in the village. That one had grown almost like me.  I knew that I was the third born and that I had two sisters before me though I didn’t know them.   My mother looked like an angel. She was very fair, had a long jelly hair and a pointed nose. She was fairly tall and looked like a very quiet lady. I tried to marry her with the mother I knew in the village. That one was quiet and fair as this one, but I never thought she was as beautiful as this one.

Her staying with us made no difference. She could not defend me even when someone was molesting me. Actually, she herself was molested many times that I sometimes felt sorry for her. Nana was always on her case, it’s either her cooking was bad or some chores had not been done or she was a fool. But my ‘father’ was a bit stronger; he was always defending my mother to no avail. My baby brother was very fat. So people started calling my mother ‘obolo maame’ meaning the mother of a big child. Every morning, my mother would wash her sieve and fill it with the loaves Nana will give her, and then she will strap Kwabena on her back and go for hawking. I learnt then that everybody had his or her own problem. I had mine and my parents had theirs. So there was no need expecting someone to protect me.

One day, Nana Adwoa came for a visit and brought me three dresses. I was the happiest girl alive. It was a long time since I had worn beautiful clothes. I tried each one of them to see if they fitted. They fitted perfectly. Then my mother went to put them in her bag which was in Nana’s room, for we all slept on a mat in that same room. The next day, she gave me one to wear to church. The next Sunday, my mother searched and searched for the other two dresses but could not find them. Then she came to tell Nana, who insulted her that she was slow and foolish and so she would not find them. Nana herself got up and went in search of the missing dresses but could not find them. Eventually, we came to the conclusion that the dresses were either not put in her bag and someone had mistakenly taken it somewhere or some thief came for them. I did not cry. I wasn’t even surprised because I had gotten used to the fact that my story was always different from the others. So I made do with the one for church services. That dress was a straight dress, white with red flowers with buttons from top to bottom in front.

 The pressure in that house had become too much for my parents so they decided to find their own place. It was a year after my dress incidence. Then we heard that some of Nana’s relatives were coming to visit her from the village. One fine Saturday, as my parents were getting ready to go tidy up their new place and I washing one saucepan, I heard people shouting ‘here they come, here they are’. Then we saw a woman coming with two girls. Those two girls each had one of my dresses on. Those who saw my dresses when Nana Adwoa brought them were awe struck.

My mother being who she was; quiet and humble, looked at me sympathetically, without a word. I always felt that she did not like me. I couldn’t put my fingers on what kept us apart, but I felt my mother always felt distant from me. But she seemed genuinely sorry for my plight. I looked on for a while and continued with my chore. By now, I’d become used to swallowing every bit of maltreatment and making it generate into bitterness within. And my nearness to God sagged with each hurt.

                                          AMOAFOWAA SEFA CECILIA