If my tomorrow never comes

And my end’s vehicle lands

Will I, like a legless eagle with broken wings, soldier across

To my ancestral land with a smile

Or throw tantrums and be dragged there like a prisoner?


If my tomorrow never comes

What will I be on tongues of others?

A chewing gum whose sweetness would be sucked in few seconds

And spat out after I reach earth’s mouth?

Or bile, which would for sometime stay 

In tongues of some unfortunates?


If my tomorrow never comes

Would a kind heart take my crippled chick

And hen it despite its current hopelessness

Would it be fed like it needs to?

Given warmth as it needs to?

Tended to as it always needs to

Even when hungry hawks chase?


If my tomorrow never comes

Whose intestines would thunder in pain?

Whose eyes would swim in a bloody sea?

Whose mind would be stirred by a ladle of sadness?

Mouth would call for an explanation train from the quarters of God?


If my tomorrow never comes

I wonder the teeth that would open its shop of happiness

The spirits that would pick up my soul in gladness

My deeds that would sum up my fate in the court of death

Above all the hearts that would break into million pieces

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 25, 2018

Meet One of the Youngest Social Entrepreneurs in Africa: Mirabelle Morah

Today our guest post is one of the youngest social entrepreneurs I know. She has used social media to tell untold stories, emboldened so many young lives and healed people from their nightmares. Let’s welcome the bubbly and beautiful Mirabelle Morah

AMOAFOWAA: You’re welcome to amoafowaa.com

MIRA: (Laughs) Thank you so much Her Royal Majesty, Amoafowaa!

AMOAFOWAA: Briefly tell us about Mira, from childbirth to now.

MIRA: I came into this world one beautiful Monday in April, during the late 90’s and I grew up in a family where the reading culture was very much encouraged so I developed a healthy love for literature while young. In between studying English & Literary Studies at the University right now, I also volunteer for different youth or societal based organizations whenever possible. I also am the chief editor of Blankpaperz.Com, a digital platform I founded for promoting and amplifying the stories of young African writers who are using words to address societal issues. Stories and written words are really powerful tools for raising awareness, changing paradigms and even for advocacy, hence I want to encourage and support as many young writers as I can by publishing stories on Blankpaperz and organizing events or workshops for bloggers and writers. I also studied Social Entrepreneurship at California State University, Chico as a SUSI student leader and I’m also a 2018 Global Teen Leader.

AMOAFOWAA: Wow! Who did you grow up reading?

MIRA: Interestingly, I think I grew up reading Cyprian Ekwensi, Chukwuemeka Ike, Zaynab Alkali, some other Nigerian authors and even some Harlequin and Silhouette novels. Chimamanda Adichie came into my life during my early teenage years and she was really a huge influence. AMOAFOWAA: Favourite food?

MIRA: (Laughs) Anything African that tastes really good!

AMOAFOWAA: Blankpaperz. What motivated your inspiring venture?

MIRA: I just wanted an online website where I could post my stories and also post the stories of some of my friends, and maybe their friends too because I knew really amazing writers who just wrote and didn’t put up their stories or poems any where so people could read them and be inspired. I started a little bit afraid and unsure, but the idea of publishing my friends’ stories online grew. Blankpaperz is growing past online activities into bloggers & writers meet up and writing workshops. I look forward to working on more ideas and partnerships to encourage and support more teenage or young writers, and to also cover deeper stories and articles from people who are afraid to speak up. 

AMOAFOWAA: How noble. How old is your venture?

MIRA: I started Blankpaperz in April 2016.

AMOAFOWAA: Has Blankpaperz met your expectations since you started?

MIRA: Just like a baby grows everyday, Blankpaperz is growing and the expectations are growing alongside. My expectations overtime have been met and exceeded but for the goals I have right now, no, my current expectations have not been met yet and they’re still growing.

AMOAFOWAA: Any role models?

MIRA: Jesus because He’s tagged as one of the most influential persons who have ever lived. Nelson Mandela because of his selflessness, his great big heart, his love, his humanity— how did he do it?! Chimamanda Adichie because she writes about societal issues in such sublime ways.

AMOAFOWAA: Won any awards?

MIRA: Yes, a medal of honour from Street Priests foundation in their work to reduce the population of street children, being honoured as a YALI RLC West Africa Alumni, awarded the Study of the U.S Institutes for Student Leaders scholarship by the U.S Department of State, being tagged an Ashoka Changemaker, etc. I can say those are awards too, right?

AMOAFOWAA: Of course. What is your dream occupation and why the choice if any?

MIRA: Haha! Dreams grow! One time I wanted to be a professional roller skater, then the best female guitarist in West Africa. Then the best singer. Then another time the best paint artist and even a missionary (laughs). Currently? It’s hard to paint everything into the picture of “an occupation.” But being human, lending much ink, lending my voice to the voiceless and amplifying the stories and plights of people that need to be heard across borders is what impassions me the most. I will like to work with IDPs and help them. I will like to hug young boys and girls, make them laugh and tell them everything will be alright.

AMOAFOWAA: An inspiration you are. Between power and failure, where would you put social media on the scale of 10 to 0?

MIRA: Okay this is tricky! I will say 8 for power and 2 for failure on a scale of 0-10. 8 for power because social media is so powerful! You can reach out to all the people you never expected to reach out to beyond borders. You can get people to fund your cause, you can use it to raise awareness and advocate for a cause, you now know what’s happening in different parts of the world and so much more! It’s also powerful for negative reasons like the nasty things you put on social media can come back to haunt you years later.  For failure also because we connect less with people physically now. We are always on our phones, missing out on the real time and real life conversations we could be having with people and all the beautiful moments we could be taking into our memories. We also spend time online admiring people’s —too often ingenuine online — lives more than we build our lives.

AMOAFOWAA: Who are your favourite singers and athletes of all time and why?

MIRA: For musicians I’m a fan of both Hillsongs and Bethel Music because they move my soul to worship. I like Falana music too and Alicia Keys because they sing about the society often. My favorite athletes are Seun Adigun, Ngozi Onwumere, Akuoma Omeoga the Nigerian Bobsled team and Usain Bolt because these are people who worked hard despite limitations and looked beyond their circumstances.

AMOAFOWAA: What is the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done?

MIRA: Me? Don’t I look like an Angel? (Laughs). 

AMOAFOWAA: (Laughs) Well… If you were made president of Nigeria presently, what are the things you’ll change to transform your country?

MIRA: Being the head of a small group or a large country is never easy! There are always things that will work for and against you! But for your question, I will pay better attention to Nigeria’s failing educational system by allocating better and adequate funds, enforce stricter national security actions to stop all the mass killings, improve Nigeria’s electricity and infrastructure, encourage #MadeInNigeria products by making systems much more entrepreneur friendly, enforce stricter laws and actions on rapists and sexual predators, etc.

AMOAFOWAA: May you live to be a president of Nigeria. What do you think are the underlining problems of Africa?

MIRA: Greed of leaders

AMOAFOWAA: What would you look out for in choosing your future husband?

MIRA: (Laughs!) Oh my God! This is such an interrogation, Amoafowaa don’t you think?! Someone who has God at his core. Someone with vision and is kind hearted towards the needs of those around him even though unconnected to him. Someone optimistic too! 

AMOAFOWAA: Sorry for the interrogation, I am a mind harvestor. Are women at par with men in enjoying rights of humans in Africa in this 20th century? Justify your answer.

MIRA: Africa is such a huge continent so I cannot make a conclusive statement for an entirely diverse group of people. In certain places women do enjoy basic human rights as men do but it’s not everywhere! So to the best of my knowledge and effort at generalism anyway, no! Africa as a continent is not yet at the point where women and men are both at par in enjoying basic human rights. Many African communities and families still do not see the essence of female education. In the work place there is still disparity between the wages of women and men as well as the uneven and low percentage of women in positions of power — but this is actually improving. 

And also, girls mostly in rural communities are still being (sometimes secretly) subjected to Female Genital Mutilation and even when they have the rights to say no to FGM, it goes against deaf ears because their families want to “prepare” them for their husbands and “reduce their promiscuity.” Wow! 

AMOAFOWAA: Hmmm. What in this world do you think we need to check in order to maintain the earth? 

MIRA: We need to check the rate at which we trash mother nature with our dirt! We need to be more aware about recycling! Stop dumping plastics in the rivers! Stop deforestation! Even after drinking a sachet of water, I usually put my wrap in my bag or hold it until I get to the nearest trash can and I put it in there. I don’t enjoy littering. 

AMOAFOWAA: What is your favourite line in Nigeria’s National Anthem?

MIRA: Every single line in the second stanza of the anthem which we don’t sing too often. 

“Oh God of creation

Direct our noble cause

Guide our leaders right

Help our youth the truth to know

In love and honesty to grow

And living just and true

Great lofty heights attain

To build a nation where peace

And justice shall reign”

AMOAFOWAA: Powerful stanza. Your dream for Nigeria in fifty years?
MIRA: Selfless leaders and individuals at every level — including myself — with conscience and genuine care for the growth of the country and people.

AMOAFOWAA: Advice your followers and followers of amoafowaa.com

MIRA: Keep being creative, ask questions, work hard, have integrity and remember to always TRY!

AMOAFOWAA: Thank you for your time here.

MIRA: You’re awesome! Thank you so much.

AMOAFOWAA: You’re “awesomer”. Her inspiration came in this form:


A young flower blossoms

In beauty, plastering care in many bosoms

Her nicely scented nectar of rightness

Healing stems of broken flowers without tiredness

With a huge future to share

She starts uprooting many a nightmare

From weedy minds 

Breaking chains of suppression of power blinds

Her hopes of a world with no fault

Making her a rich and blessed vault

Though her road be long

She waves always with a smiling song

You lotus flower in muddy grooves

I cheer as your power moves 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 21, 2018

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


There is a summer hut

On the roof of the moon

Which all prying eyes cut

Waiting for us to swoon

So do those problems shut


We need our hands threaded in symphony

Our feet running in a perfect dance

To tickling sounds of harmony

Our eyes writing our thoughts in each other at any chance

Making our tongue’s pools our sweet and ever tasteful honey


Let our laughter rise from our souls

To massage our feet

And strengthen our soles

As happy songs follow through our street

Through our glowing hollow holes


Oh gracious holes, where jumpy songs metamorphose into cool

Only to our fluttery hearts soothe

Who cares if we merge into a fool

With a heartbeat oh so smooth

As long as we end as each’s perfect loving stool?


After tickling ourselves silly

Like magical eagles, let’s fly to moon’s roof

You in me and I in you, even better in the chilly

As we each laugh at our many a goof

Climbing through the hardened even through the hilly

You are after all the angel of all my hidden goosebumps!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 20, 2018


Worms wriggle

Dogs bark

Cats mew

So be careful of birthed promises

When his pants are down


I know of flowers who have lived on clouds

With plucked stars and moons

Bedding in chariots of all their fantasies

Dancing to the tune of Cupid’s best

Only to fall as rains

Into a hell of fire whose ashes flew

With airs of regrets

Into deserted forests of disappointments

So careful of dishes of promises

When his pants are down


They build believable mansions with words

For their tongues are the pencils of architects 

Whose sheets need crumpling sizzles

And tails need your wet wiggle

In their burning passion

Whose lifespan is as short as the shine of fireworks in the sky

So oh beware

Of the sound of holes of deceit

When his pants are down

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 19, 2018


Sitting in the past with the wrinkled

As my time’s stars stood in the greenest twinkle

I heard of eyes, potent in closure

Even in most secluded holes

Seeing hectic moles who fates stole

In the near tomorrow

The near tomorrow which garnishes my feet today

Yet I laughed like a wise soul hearing the voice of the foolish


Running in the past with the “cruel”

A cane spoke of love with corrective scars

In gift of a future with no blemishes

Maame nodded and applauded her brother

Papa got another to join in

All eyes sparkled 

Hands clapped

I felt like a Jesus never welcomed in his own home

The present now looks at the past with glee

Gifting its long gone hands unmeaningful late handshakes 


I dined with the past whose children had ears

Soft ears

The past whose children had no mouths 

In elderly presence

I dined with the past where young ones vanished

Like myths in elderly visitations

And did feed respect on plates of good upbringing

Nana would cry in happenings of today

Watching through spectacles of ancestorhood

Glad I have no lenses to see his countenance


I wonder where all the magic canes of path direction went?

I marvel at the hard ears with sharp mouths

Which toddlers clutch as blessings

I wonder how words put together to protect

Handcuff wills to correct

I wonder

I do wonder how far this belly’s fruit would go with its generation

In madness of rights

What I see in closed eyes of the future

Hell fire so heatedly hazy

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 17, 2018


In this cave of pain

Where insanity is in rain

Planting needless disdain

Like that felt by Cane

Be the light in my train


You know thoughts which sit in the main

Driving me insane

Oh God of my brain!

Break these haunting chain

Which my good waters drain

Can’t you see I am in pain?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 14, 2018

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

Dreams are easy to pluck in sleep, certainly not with opened 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


At this crossroads

Where good leads to bad

And bad leads to good

Stands the whip of fear

At all ends


At this crossroads

Righteousness begets pain

While cruelty begets peace

Yet conscience acts judge

With a gavel of suffering


The lioness in me battles the sheep I am

The tears in me drowns the heart I have

Weakened nerves promise electrocution

Of wits and sanes and love and suns

Yet this crossroads have no pointers


Is there an ultimate judge

For an afterlife trial in a life’s dilemma?

Is there a hell fire for a righteous crime?

Is there a punishment for a sin of love?

Life’s rhetorics butcher like a savage, at these crossroads

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 12, 2018

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


In the wake of this breaking

Where the world lives a touch away

There is no need for a shaking

Of wits and hurts and hate to stray

For the world goes round and round


Today the best sit in an earthquake of disagreement

Tomorrow a small island

Might hold the reigns of power

Riding a great fallen like a horse

In a rough road of gravels,  broken glasses and piercy metals

So there is no need to dig out supremacy

On plates of subduing many

In a championship hunt


Oh what beauty will show

If all fingers of nations hold! 

Oh what beauty will show

If genuine hands of nations extend to each other

In a festival of diplomacy

Oh what love will bind

If unbeneficial power’s throat is slit

In a farming of togetherness

We are what we choose to be

In what we choose to do

In this global village

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)  Dec.  5, 2018


There is an insect town

On this beautiful living lawn

But all passersby see

Is the beautiful grass and its fee

Yet night planes their insecti-flight

And day takes them from sight

It is like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool


What is seen may not be

Once roots are brought to be washed on the head of a plain sea

In the ground many bites abound

On land much pretense surrounds

Even though our hearts know in capital letters

We wear our hypocritical matters

Acting in dancing even when we’re being bitten like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool


My teeth line up

Even when my voice shuts up

When I see eyes turn red

In a covetousness hidden in singing and begging to be heard

What can a hiding ant say

In a convention of hunting lizards on a pay?

Human bodies is mostly like sweat in a fluffy wool

Or vampire ants in a crown stool

Shinning royalty, feeling pains

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 4, 2018


I saw your birth

And I feel your dying heartbeat

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

And like all babies, you had your needy conditions


The footsteps of time has seen many changes

From many ranges

Plucking down hopes like ripe oranges

And hanging hopes like fake bells on Christmas trees

Yet our needs pile in readiness

To travel with another you


It might be greed to our prides and egos feed

It might be seeds to our ambitions and targets lead

It might be fire woods to our dreams and aspirations 

Turn ashes in the passing winds

Yet our eyes stand open

Like a needy church in a sin zone

Waiting to embrace another in your wake


The tears of thanksgiving

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

In churches and clubs and houses and streets

Will let you know about human loyalty

But take heart in your death

Knowing you were like this new born

Whose fate tallies yours

Taking time to brush your vampire teeth

Which chewed many in the happiness of others

And clouded to rain on eyes of many

Whose curses justify the happiness at your cruel wake

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec 31, 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 20

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

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

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

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

“Turn around”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics


I am like a peacock
Feathery in coloured beauty

All eyes see is the pride that hides my painful ride

All mouths rap are rumours in parcelled fancy

About my stretches which naught fetches for their eyes

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

None sees the scar beneath the feathers

Funny, they watch from a blurred distance


I am like a goat

My fur milking my sweat dry

Confusing my audience

Even when life hits in thundering strikes

They confuse my jump of pain and shake for sanes 

For stubbornness

Claiming disobedience when I walk on live coals

For things of my interest

None cares to know about the scar which drives my need


I have a scar 

Which has bought for me an expensive and durable insomnia

A seed freezing stiffly, shaking painfully

In jerks of spittles and fecals

In the town of sleep

Caring not about time

Caring not about place

Caring not about an occasion

Always fighting with swords to light its wounds

Why can’t they see?


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

In a dark tainted expensive limousine of no salvation?

Why can’t they hear

The heart which stops to beat and beats to wail

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

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

Could it be they are too low to see?

Why do heavy boots kick my name

Into gutters of shame

A shame they are hunting for keeps?


I wish they see what drives their greed

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

For in this rattles of horror

I am trying

Trying hard to hold my own

Mending my scar the best I can

Even in its taste for swords of woundy rekindling

But then again

Why is this dramatic mind confusing few for all

Buying sorrows in my precious vault 

With currencies of over thinking?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 30, 2017


The ocean blankets your very warmth

The trees serves the gentle air on plates of satisfaction

The flowers wave in beautification

Giving smiles like that of a gentle sun

Even the thatch whistles your modesty in luxurious melodies

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

Who dares to breastfeed sadness on your royal laps?

Oh Royal Saly!


Ashoka picked you for a reason

To make the dawn of enlightenment in your season

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

In just few years

To urge them to strive no matter their fears

Even if rains of hurdles drain their sanes

As harmattan of confusion clouds their skies

In such arms of comfort

Where nature bows to humanity

Who dare to nurse chaos?

None but a phantom!

Oh Royal Saly!


Where your sea ships sit in call

Our fallen love is called

Where your sea sands wait with blessed fingers

We go in happy massage of our feet

Where your pool mirrors our wonders

Our souls look to see the face of God

You are where colour fades in supremacy

A place where humanity blends

Into a beautiful and peaceful earth

Why will a frown visit faces in your bosom?

Even half a reason exists not!

Oh Royal Saly!


A dream of mother earth!

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

A cola on tongues of visitors!

A fortunate bride’s gift!

A fulfilled soul’s dream!

You are all these and more

Oh Royal Saly!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 30, 2017

Photo Credit: Ashoka Crew

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics


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

We wake with will of a win

Cling to the song of Christ’s birth

Flinging all that carries burdens in a bin

His birth signifies sin’s death

Oh Hallelujah, the king is born!


We whistle with warmth wherever

Knowing our lows will never flow with the ending 

Of the river of the year, never ever

And every broken soul will be mending

Oh Hallelujah! The king is born!


We work our wrestling within

With hope of eloping any pending traps

Which seeks to wear us out thin

In the hands of the leading as maps

Oh Hallelujah! The king is born!


With or without

Let feuding hands shake

In or out

Let all pain break

Slim or stout

Let pride and egos inflated, roads of healing take

For oh Hallelujah! Christ the king is born!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©Dec. 25, 2017


Many minds have different layers of thoughts

Superstition leading their mental institutions

Abena, I believe in human fallibilities

We are mostly like stubborn goats

Pushing to the very places whose whips

Still lick their mouths

From the burst skin they plucked from our bodies



Some drivers have turned fishes in alcoholic seas

Driving like swimming in a shark hounding

As passengers hold their seats like cowards

Hoping their hold saves from any incident


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

Flying in the guise of driving

Some love challenging fishes in seas

Pretending their skins have fins 

Going places marked in danger

Some indulge in bacchanalian orgies

Their noses turned noticed rat holes

Lighted into smoke-hood

Their minds heated by hard drugs

Their egos inflated by alcohol

Their daring enhanced by reckless madness

Why won’t accidents and deaths be attracted?


Those who visit temples

And temples who accept congregants without scrutiny

Dweebaadweebaa is not written on foreheads

Neither are its neighbours of infestations

Know you are an egg

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

Know you are a glass

Who can’t play pilolo with death

Know you are mortal and a very breakable doll

As happiness beckons on this festive season

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 24, 2017


When the crowers of today turn peckers at dawn

Feasting on feeds of hens and chicks

While time walks without turning back

Their future in saucepans of history will be painful

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

Ginger of hurts

Salt of under development

Tears of penury

And cubes of curses

Let earful cocks clean their ears

As they stand on pedestals of high repute

In their youthful dawn

And heed to the call of change

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 22, 2017.


Let, let your kindness walk

In sneakers on these slippery tiles of need

Let, let your kindness walk

In knighthood in this festival to feed

Let, let your kindness walk

Like Santas who give to goodness lead

Let, let your love walk the talk of giving


There are bodies living in nakedness

Walking in paupering madness

There are stomachs of roaringness

Living in pain of weakness

There are hearts sitting in loneliness

Hoping for a smile of humaneness

There are hearts living on bitterness

Hoping for acts of kindness

So let, let your love walk the talk of love

To please the celebrant above

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 22, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics


Eno Bowaa, Akusua Duku, Ama Afarewaa eeei!

Kofi Amoabeng, Opare Kusi, Agya Obuo eeei!

When the sun travels east in settlement each day

My thanksgiving becomes as tall as fading shadows

For your smiling teeth which held daggers in the dark

And worked on a battle with my back


Is it fair?

Is it fair that you pair my kindness with a cross

Meant for thousand Judases?

Is it fair?

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

After feeding you in your haunting seat?

Is it fair?

Is it fair?

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

When my eggs feed our town?

What philosophical madness holds spirits so vile

That its possession makes you drunk in hatred?


Eno ne Agyanom

I have landed on my buttocks at your feet

Kick with your feet or your sticks

Send your spittle to rain on my honour

Shoot your words like poisonous arrows 

To pierce the heart of my sanity

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

Otwereduampong is not a blind seer

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

To make you immortal

So use a gutter broom to sweep my importance

Life is but a clone of faults

Bouncing on walls of Karma

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 18, 2017


You know the spine of every palm frond

Holds it firmly 

Even in the slaps and blows of the wind

You know a seed holds the future of its fruit

You know divinations of norms

Twist paths of stories

I am on this drive which the winds of life turn

Abrempong mu Obrempong

Lead my drive!


In a vehicle where I am a passenger in a bit

A mate in a bit

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

Only to get off at your appointed station

I need you to perfect my seed

I need you to fix its all

I need you to hold it into independence

So I don’t turn the alighted not so delighted

Anyame mu Onyame

Lead my drive!


This road is filled with claws and pores

Yet my tyres have no where else to thread

Every puncture fills the fun of fickles

Every stop digs the greed of pushers

Every break oils the need of the unscrupulous

Every empty tank calls for even thirsty gallons

So Odomankomah!

Odi Asaase yi so ahenkan!

Judah mu gyata!

Please lead my drive!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 17, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 17

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An officer came to visit me on that very day. 

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

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

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

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

“Bee. Bee Davids”

“Nice name. Where are you from?” 

I couldn’t hold my patience anymore.

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

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

“So what exactly do you want from me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics


These eyes still have their seals

Primitive living

Oblivious of a world on wheels

A cup for mouths and animals

Like Abels in a Jesus world

They live laughing in loving misery


I have seen anuses feeding their soil

At the full glare of many

As flies chorus the pushing

I have seen the flies following and dining with hands

Blessed with brains

I have seen a going and a coming 

With nothing to show

Tired muscles screaming through showing veins

At the injustice done them

There must be blessing in ignorance!


They give with no knowledge of benefits

They chant with no knowledge of duties

They thumb with no knowledge of implications

This must be the dream of politricks!


You beautiful hearts in an unfortunate place!

Arrested by need!

Punched by greed!

Entrenched in the past!

Intoxicated by ignorance!

How I wish modern literacy were a spell

Under my helpless grasp!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 12, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 16

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what will you do for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics


Many a steps are forced by need

Many a man’s need suffereth from greed

One’s seen need is another’s goldmine

I am that hen

Looking for the feet of the mythical hawk

Stepping on the wellbeing of my chick


All many eyes see

Is the flower with different colours

Standing tall in the wind

Blown here and there

And still stands unshaken in the calm

But if pillows could talk

They will tell secret tales of hurdles

Which suck sleep from the honey bed

I am that hen

Who has escaped many a cruel machete

From the hands of greedy celebrants

Using the helplessness of my hen

In the abattoir of healers


I have danced naked on many a hopeful ground

Shown my weaknesses which grows with days

Paid have-nots with money of my blood

Fed on biles of failure and disappointment

And felt my intestines beg a tear closure

I am that hen

Whose soft end sits in its innocent chick

Imprisoned in the cage of a disorder

One that brings me silly orders


But I go on

Jumping from here to there

Hoping a good wind will send me THERE

THERE, where redemption sits in the mass of deceit

To free mine from the shells of life’s unfortunacy

I am that hen

Hopeful with every new day

No matter the deadly punches of their previous

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 10, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 15

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mazuka is king!” thundered the church.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 2017.

Photo Credit: Google Pics


The fallen is like an egg

You kick with an intent of destruction

Variety in lacking, is perfection of His creation

So let your feet be kind


Consider the legless and help the hopping

Consider the struggling and help the ill

Consider the suffering and bless the helpless

Please let your feet be kind to look

So as not kick the fallen


Let your feet be kind

For there is no shaking grounds

Let your feet be kind

A down today can be an up tomorrow

Let your feet be kind

Tomorrow’s history is today’s mystery

Let your feet be kind 

On this slippery earth

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 6, 2017


No grass-cutter will ever use

Its own hands to light a fire

In a grass hole which houses its muse

Or its own loving empire

So why abuse your living space?


We are all sailing to leave to here gift

Like leaves on a running river

To those who we sift

Into this world with a shiver

So why corrupt this divine space?


Be the river that cleans the dirt

And not one that erodes the sand

Be the broom that sweeps the filth

And not one that sweeps gold dust

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 5, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 4, 2017.

Photo Credit: Google Pics


None knows how seeds form

None knows how they’ll turn up

Only Onyankopong Otwereduampong knows

So let your tongue be with no meanness

Let your eyes marry your mind in learning

That disability is a different form of ability


Every womb loves its proceeds

None is special than the other

It transcends boundaries





A mother is a mother

A father is a father

So let your voice be with no malice

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


In a world where big and wholesome trees 

Are at the mercy of some winds

Ailing seeds need shades of protection

Shades of love

Shades of mentoring

For the fact is like a stomach

Every body owns one

So teach your ears to listen in correction

That disability is a different form of ability


Open your arms to the armless

Let your sight lead the blind

Help walk the legless

Lend your voice to the voiceless

Be the mind of the lacking

Lighting colour of embrace to the unloved skin

Be the spine of the spineless

Be the ears of the deaf

Winds of ailment roam the earth

With no pointers as to who they’ll embrace

So know in all your days

That disability is a different form of ability

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 3, 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

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


You have cut the ribbon of shyness

From our very eyes

All contours leading to remorse

Have been made comfortable

From the slippery slope it was


Because sins grow into norms with time

And you are the programmer of the dramatic brain

Which engines us


I wonder if you peep through the anus of discos and clubs

To see sins dance in varied sneakers and heels

I wonder if you see through the “drosses” and “trousers” of fornicators

To see pestles in pleasurable laughter

And mortars in needful beckoning

I so wonder, if your eyes reach

The joints of high points in smokinghood

To know how deep nostrils reach

To fetch the line of smoke from lungs

Oh! Do you follow their steps into darkness through to your temples?

Are you regretting our creation?


I know you know the machetes

Which cause some hands to sin

You do know the poisons which will cause some minds to scheme

You do know the words which will make some vocals turn villains

Yet, you sit and watch as many perish

On the eve of your worship

How delighted are you watching the path to your glorification?

Disrespectful me!

How dare I? How dare I taunt you on the grounds of my sins?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 25, 2017

​WHEN DAYLIGHT SLEEPS (Adult Poetry, 18+)

When daylight sleeps

Prepare your foot to heed to the call of my beads

For surely

You must dance in my wet ground

Whose rains began at the first tear of dawn


Mow your lawn

And clean your gun

Load it to perfection

There sure must be a fat game of pleasure

At the end of the hunt

Yes, a dance in a hunt


Be sure to borrow the air of freshness

Around your red towel

Which will be on my plate as one toffee

Whose sweetness never fades

Of course I will add that to the lollipop

So be sure to prepare your all in pleasing scenting


Actions for passions

Reactions for hyping

Matching for matching

Hanging for hanging

The eyes of our darkness have a lot to expect

In our unholy confines

And so must yours

When daylight sleeps

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 24, 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


When chains police beings

In hollow caves of innocence

At the audience of  culprits

Who like sheep giggle with eyes of a lionesses

Fate sits on a slate of unfairness!


Sounds of feet with rifles!

Sounds of breaths with struggles!

Sounds of deaths which plant fear

Watered by self mourning!

Sounds of freedom of the lucky

Fertilised by covetousness!

Fate, why sit on a slate of unfairness?


You are a king of your domain

You are the captain of your ship on a sea of life!

Why can’t you navigate truth from mouths of lies

Into ears of justice?

Why can’t you order conscience to sun bathe

In the full glare of the populace

To cut loose the shackles of victimization?

Why can’t you defend the poor defenceless

In your fearful court?

Why can’t you?

Why can’t you?

Why sit on a slate of unfairness planing the credibility of great personalities

And painting them with guilt

At the full glare of unforgettable eyes?

Ah! Why sit on an unfair slate? Oh fate!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 23, 2017 

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


Let the hen dance in the midst of hawks
To the appeal of the vast sky

Its bones would never fail to lie naked

Before their beaks

So sometimes, it’s best to do nothing

Let the snail run as fast as the rabbit of its fantasy

In the angry survival of the hippopotamus

It sure would taste feet to its death

And lose itself in a mud coffin

If rains seek asylum from the sky

There and then

Sometimes, it’s best to do nothing

A mad hungry dog hears no excuse

Of a sick cock

Neither does a vulture know an impoverished corpse

Sometimes actions wake threats and hurts

So I dare say

It is sometimes best, to do nothing

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 20, 2017


Many a pain holds no stamp on bodies

Many a pain stems from sight and hearing

Many a pain give no pleasure gain

So place no insensitivity on this anger

This anger you feel towards you


Every pain in your being plants my insanity

Every stain on your life

My very frustration

Watching death drag and taunt

Dangling your being like a thing

In dreams of a grave

Is no pleasure trip

So pardon if my temperamental trips


No heart that loves feels no perplexity

At the hurt of a target

There is a reason the hen shields its chicks

At the sound of a hawk

Love binds in happiness and sorrow

So even at your low, do know

This hard looking me feels every fibre in your body

And its unpleasant vibes

Just like an electrocution burning the wires of its veins

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 20, 2017

​ESCAPE FROM HARARE by Hon. Prof. Kwesi Yankah

Harare, Zimbabwe. Driving through any city is a joy, particularly if you are not  the driver. That way you transfer unto the driver all your high blood pressure, and relax to observe in good detail the ridges and valleys, and the contours of all you survey: passers-by with mini bags tucked in armpits; neatly dressed men who forgot to comb their hair; rickety combis, the local version of trotro, abruptly stopping without warning; and teenage girls in ‘abbreviated’ blouses, virtually floating on foot.

But while in Southern Africa, watch out and make sure you don’t take over the driver’s seat, if you are not the driver. If you did, you would betray your West African origins; for not all countries joined Ghana in changing from right hand to left hand drive several years ago; and not all countries drive on the right side of the road as we do here.
In that sense, Zimbabwe is left-handed. Indeed you would instinctively feel there was something wrong with the country. Vehicles moving on the wrong side of the road; pedestrians looking at the wrong side before crossing; and the driver using the wrong hand to change gears? Life indeed looked odd. 
But going to Harare I had also done something odd. I mistakenly took along several new Ghana cedi notes, which kept interfering anytime I reached for other currencies. But I later realized how useless these were, when I left a bundle in front of my dressing mirror at the Hotel, and returned in the evening to find it intact. Not stolen? I later realized my folly when I read from across the mirror, a message boldly inscribed on a card, and meant for careless clients like me:  ‘And lead us not into temptations.’ But the room service boys were not tempted. They were either angels, or were simply uninterested in strange currencies.   Their interest was probably in the Zimbabwean dollar.
The value of the Zim dollar paralyzed me when I was browsing through the room service menu card, looking for a familiar meal to gobble. I realized there was something wrong with the price list and nearly called the front desk to complain. Were the figures right, was this a typographical error? A small bread or drink was going to cost me 50,000 dollars? I looked again adjusting my glasses this time. But like any wise ‘Ghanaman’, I decided to visit my chop box that afternoon.  
That evening, a colleague and I zoomed off to see Harare by night. Not much to see that evening since most parts of the city were in darkness. We went to a sprawling pub, which doubles as a cricket stadium, and walked out on realizing there was no seating space since a game just ended, and spectators were celebrating with booze. We shifted venue  and sat for two hours at another location, chatting. It was there that the reality began  dawning. I had taken a small local beer, while my two colleagues went for a bottle of wine. And what was the bill? I heard the bar tender whisper in my colleague’s ear, and in the next minute I saw my host counting a thick wad of notes to pay the bill. 
“What did my beer cost,” I asked, anxious to know how much inconvenience I was inflicting.  My host smiled, and reluctantly confessed how much he had spent on me. “Your beer was not that bad, it cost three hundred thousand dollars!” I jumped! “You don’t mean it,” I was incredulous.
“That’s normal; and the wine Yaw and I drank cost about two million dollars.” Wheeeew!!!
My head started aching from the breaking news. 
“And by the way, what is the official exchange rate to the American dollar.” I quizzed.

“Nobody talks about that; it does not exist; but if you have one US dollar, you may get about two hundred and fifty thousand Zim dollars.”
Next day. We drove to a few shops to browse stuff on sale. Here and there, we were greeted with long queues without end and getting longer and longer. Looking at the front of the queue, it was hard to tell what was on sale, but the story later unfolded, and sounded like Ghana in Acheampong’s seventies, where it was advisable to join any queue forming before checking what it was about. Where Ghana would queue for milk and sugar courtesy Kutu Acheampong, Zimbabwe’s  meandering queues I saw were for bread, a scarce commodity. 
“Bread will come anytime from now, and some of them started the queue about three hours ago.”  I was told.
But come with me to the supermarket, which had lost all its ‘superiority.’ If you need an after-shave in the poor man’s market, be ready with two hundred and twenty thousand dollars. If you need bran flakes get ready with seven hundred and seventy-seven thousand dollars. If you yearn for a box of honey flakes for breakfast, look for about one million five hundred thousand dollars! But please check your passion for Black Label Whisky if you are into sampling hard liquor. You need twelve million dollars at Bon Marche, the shop I visited in Borrowdale Brooke suburb. 
But the situation with cash loads you needed to carry was better, I was told. Only last year, Zimbabwe did a redenomination exercise, knocking off three zeros from their currency, hoping the value would be the same! And at the time I visited four weeks ago, the Government had issued a fiat that prices of all commodities should be slashed by 50%; and notices had been displayed in stores: “Prices reduced in accordance with Government directives.” The outcome, which meant lesser money to carry, was what I witnessed. 
 And how busy were shelves in shops? The Bata shoe shop was virtually empty. Other super markets? Several yards of empty shelves; a cake of soap here and there; and about ten yards of void. In one store I visited at Borrowdale Brooke, I could have measured 30 yards of emptiness in one row, broken by two or three feet of cosmetics. It was as if an armed robber had visited the night before, and decided on selective looting, leaving a handful of items for charity.
Hardest hit among scarce items was meat. All private abattoirs had closed except one, I was told.  
But shop owners are clever. They close two or three hours earlier than schedule, to avoid completely empty shelves, which could attract a charge of sabotage. Additionally, shops  had complied with Government directives, and put up appropriate notices: “Not more than two per customer on all commodities.”    Rationing is the word.
But where is the original Zimbabwean currency? The Zim dollar only exists in name. What are in normal circulation are bearer cheques, not the original Zim dollar which is extinct. If it existed, you would probably need a wheelbarrow to carry cash for shopping. The bearer cheques are in dollar denominations of 5,000; 10,000; 50,000; 100,000; and 200,000. On these cheques is an expiry date of 31st  July 2007. But had they really expired? No, at the end of August when I visited, the bearer cheques still freely and legally circulated.
Well, after that stunning adventure we all agreed we had earned a good lunch meal. We sped on the Harare-Bulawayo stretch, but turned off and went to the city center, driving past the Rainbow Hotel, the Harare International Conference center, and Robert Mugabe’s ZANU PF party headquarters: a huge 13 floor sky scraper which puts to shame all party headquarters in Ghana.  The ZANU PF, after Osagyefo’s CPP has the cock as its symbol. 
It had indeed been a long, tiring day. I could tell from my aching limbs, and trembling intestines. We drove to a nearby restaurant and ate to our fill. It was a fairly cheap meal, according to my good friend. 
The cost of three plates of a restaurant meal was reasonable: only two million Zimbabwe dollars!
I hurriedly brushed my teeth the next morning and rushed to the airport. Then wisely joined the nearest available plane, and escaped to Ghana!

First published in August 2007

Source: Hon. Prof. Kwesi Yankah



Chant me into dispossession

Ye who held my navel

And crossed to the shores of earth

As my voodoo watched your fragile steps

With no evil stone cast

Chant me into dispossession

Ye who fed through the clays of my pot

In the dirty dust you now so abhor

Deliver me from the spirit of my ancestors

And baptize into the ways of alienation

But remember this eraser might leave no trace

When your uniqueness calls tunes of your intrusion

Chant me into dispossession

Ye who was healed by the leaves of this land

When the heels of death chased your infancy like a hyena

Weed all the fetishes and cast out your blackness

Into a bleach of civilization

I am sorry to have been the curse which birthed your existence

Chant me into dispossession

For I see the me in you screaming at the lashes of your rejection

And the hurt of your hate eroding the very soil that did you plant

I am only sad that plants can’t do without their roots

Still, chant me into dispossession

Chant me into dispossession

I am a filthy animal with a crude tail

You are as white as the dark with a soul as black as snow

So chant me

Do chant me child!

Chant me!

Chant me into your suitable possession!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 18, 2017

Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 10


I have seen many a moon

Wrestling suns as I acted their baboon

I have craved for many a dark cocoon

But here I watch the sun and swoon

As it sings “didn’t I tell you it will be soon?”

Yes you did, and it is not even my life’s noon”
Ms. Barwuah was not only impressed after reading my poem, she was happy for me. Obviously love was written all over me. If anyone had told me I would find love in a wicked looking, tall and well muscled black as ebony man, I would have sworn on my life it would never happen. But there I was, with butterflies and bubbles playing tickles in my stomach just at the thought of Ntwanu. He called more than three times everyday. Saw me at least in every two days.  I thought of marrying him, having multiple children and living happily ever after until Mimi asked me to wake from my fantasies. 

Mimi had never liked my association with the trio who were cultists and armed robbers with the worst and most fearful gang in Kumasi, according to rumours.

“No matter how much you love him, know you have no future with that armed robber. The earlier you start working, the better for you. No matter how much you have in your account now, sitting at home and daydreaming about an advanced thief and cold blooded murderer will deplete your account. A word is enough for the wise”

As much as I hated Mimi for pointing out the obvious, as much as I failed to apologize for the slap I gave her for stating the only thing I did not want to acknowledge, I had to agree with her after thinking deeply about it. There is no great future for children between prostitutes and robbers. I knew I did not want that life for any child of mine. So I decided to go to work a week and two days after my lovely holidays with Ntwanu. I felt bad considering his pleas for me to stop prostitution. He even asked me to marry him but I politely declined and promised to think about it in future. I was sixteen and had seen too much to make any hasty decisions. What I felt for Ntwanu scared me but I was not ready to let go. 

I called Guru to tell him about my plans and told him not to tell Ntwanu. We thrashed our differences. He was angry that I had exchanged him for Ntwanu but told me he begged him to let him come into my life. His problem was that I accepted. We settled on he still protecting me as we maintained a civil relationship. So I went to work. 

My client for that evening was a depressed man. He looked like he wanted to cry. I sat opposite him in his huge hall and tried to cheer him up. 

“I have been in serious problems for sometime now but the sky is clearing. I may not know what you are going through but do pull yourself together. Your friends contracted me to be with you for a reason”

“I don’t want anything. Just leave” was his only answer.

I did not leave. I went to his kitchen, boiled some water, poured it into a bucket and with my additional towel, called him authoritatively to the bed. He was taken by utter surprise. I massaged him roughly, then gently. After the water went cold, I used his shea butter to smear him from his bald pate to his soles and gently massaged him with my fingers. When I got to his crotch, I gave it a proper palm to skin massage, he came without intending to and felt very shy. I laughed it off, kissed his crotch and proceeded to sit on it when it woke up again. All the while, I continued to massage him as I rode him like a needy horse.

By the time I was through with him, he had warmed up to me.

“They all died in an accident. They all died!”

He broke down. This time, I listened without any form of interruptions. 

“I was always busy with work acquiring all these things. My wife complained but I did not mind her. I did not do anything she wanted. All she wanted was time with me. Quality time. She also wanted me to enhance my penis a little but I did not mind her. I learnt my lesson when I met her with our neighbour’s twenty four year old son in bed. I felt small. I felt little. A powerful man like me felt like an ant. I left home for a while to think things through, came back four days later to find a letter on the centre table.”

He paused to cry for a while. 

“The gateman told me they had left few minutes before I came in. The letter asked for a divorce and a fair child support for our three children. She was never a materialistic woman. Barely ten minutes had passed when I got a call that they had been involved in an accident. When I reached the scene, they had all died. Grinded into paste in a blood mess by an articulator truck on the Tema Highway. I don’t know how I have been living since then. It’s been two years! Two whole years young lady.”

I understood his pain then. How do you comfort a 54 year old man who had lost his entire family in a ghastly motor accident on the ticket of marital problems which stirred from wife neglect? I went to stand behind him and massaged him from shoulders down. All the while singing:

“When peace like a river

Attended my way

When sorrows like seas billows roll

Whatever my Lord

You have taught me to say

It is well, it is well, with my soul”

His tears subsided so I sat beside him. He coiled himself like a short millipede and laid his head on my laps. I left when he fell asleep because his friends had paid me beforehand.

The next morning, he called to thank me and invited me to lunch. He took me out and bought me a car. A brand new saloon Toyota Camry. I tried to decline but he would not take no for an answer. He said I gave him back his life. I gave him hope for tomorrow. I gave him the needed peace, I woke him from the sleep of living dead. That night I slept like a baby, feeling glad that I could, through prostitution touch a life in the positive. Of course, everyday is a unique day and comes with its varied surprises.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Nov. 2017.

Photo Credit: Google Pics


When the same breast nurses many mouths 
From stomachs of greed and or promises

Milk evaporates and calls for the blood of the mother

Showcasing paleness of her body

Awo Yaa!

May this portion of yours change for the better!


This building which has seen the palms of many masons

And still suffers from foundational weakness

Due to stolen cement

Unbought stones

Unpurchased water

Which are all buried in the belly of pockets

Housing blood of the land

Is to be pitied

Awo Yaa!

May this portion of yours change for the better!


This vehicle whose driver and mate

Dwell on the monies of passengers

But do no servicing

Even as it creaks in painful destruction by the day

Rebelling here in concerns

There in embarrassment

Needs a different story

Before it breaks what it protects

Awo Yaa!

May this portion of yours change for the better!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © November 16, 2017