Brushing rotten teeth
…bleeds out rotten blood
Fire roasts minerals
…to burn out hidden beauty
There is no great results without tiresome beginnings
Same goes for development

1. Results
2. Obese
3. Exercise
4. Fitness

For the 2 to attain total 4
There is a need for a rigorous 3
Which comes with
…body aches
Before the 1 of 4 can be achieved

Development is like 1
It takes the determined
…and many sacrifices
To birth

So let’s cut off the yearning for imported luxury
Let’s kill all our unhealthy relationships
Let’s hold our hands to strengthen our stands
Let’s begin a suffering that promises jubilation
We have crawled for too long
…at the feet of beasts
Who love seeing their towering
When we know our height will dwarf them
Even in a sitting

For a
Can do

We need us to chase our ages
…to equalize development
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 18, 2019


In the eyes of many an ignorant
We’re arranged like an orrange
Each in our hugging line within
Our African cover making a distinction impossible
Blackness is our definition
Tonal scenting is our stamp
When we are a coalition of big farms
With many cultural plantations

But we are cruely cut into
…for bites
In four equal parts
…or two
…or even a little part on the head
To suck our juices of harmony and chew our fibres of wealth

How a touch affects the whole is frightening
Yet farmers watch as seeds drop
Growing through need and scenting the rot
If only we can fence with the wires of self do
In trade and aid
And build us by ourselves
To cut off pests feasting on us!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © September 21, 2019


The world, God’s gift,
Was originally a dwelling for all
Without demarcation
Without ownership
How humans heckled hostage
And carved supremacy to draw lines called borders
Made a funny video in my mind
Sanity made it understandable
Development made it beautiful
Until ownership turned vindictive
Murdering beings
In a nice x word, clothing a devilish doom
How did Ubuntu fail?

I thought Ubuntu spelt out compassion and virtues in humanity
I thought Ubuntu could turn mother
To hug all black lands in its bosom to blossom
I thought Ubuntu could one day turn African Anthem
To unite the black continent
Into a contender unbeatable
I thought Ubuntu could speak to hearts
Knowing no differences between colours so varied
And will never see a difference in shades of black
But here we are
In a horrifying horror
How did Ubuntu fail?

I can see the spirit of Madiba
Wailing the woes of guttered sacrifices
I see the shape of Africa
Writhing in painful deformity as uniformity loses form in shocking inhumanity
I can see the continent on the stage of insults
As fellow humans queer us brainless
I see sluggish souls selling South Africa
In the parcel of Africa
To the world as animals needing buyers
I see African Bosiakos battling death for a comeback
With fists of unfairness and disappointments
How did Ubuntu fail us?

It is a simple matter of living as others live
It is a common sense of one world for all living
It is a human knowledge of home being where the heart leads
It is a common love of neighbours
That waters growth in every positive way
In a day when humans are like porridge mixed with sugar
On all grounds
How can we get here?
How did Ubuntu fail?

This naked madness needs a stopping!
This naked hurting needs a sane clothing!
This modeling horror needs no stage
On this struggling continent
For we know the “I am because we are”
We know none leaves the other behind
We know all the faces of Ubuntu
All the fingers of Ubuntu
All the senses of Ubuntu
And all its dictates
Let’s not allow Ubuntu to fail
In this love zone with equal bones in a colour
For we lose it all
If one calls out hatred as the other responds
That contagion can cripple us
Into a never rising
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © September 3, 2019


See the wealthy
…oblivious of their wealth
Wearing skins of poverty
…and acting poor
Dumbs beg crumbs to gift their thumbs
…ignoring the harms

Oh guinea fowls acting domestic chickens
…left roaming during the day
…and caged at night
Forget not dark holds many an ink
…to plan your harm
Stop being dumbs begging crumbs to sell your thumbs

I laugh in disgust
…seeing lions turn cats
…tigers turn dogs
…elephants turn mice
…eagles turn owls
All serving those who need to them serve
Why are you acting dumbs
…begging crumbs to stamp your thumbs
…for your imprisoning fence?

In this case
…where prayers prey on the prayed for
…and sluggishness sells solutions in strong deceptions
…killing hard work in minds of many
As several creeping animals invade our anthills
We are in a well called hell
…where even the yelling
…of common sense will get no hearing
No wonder we’ve turned dumbs
…scrambling for crumbs
…to freely dish out our thumbs
…as mandate of our caging

As our seers have been painted blind
And our gods have been dressed Satanic
We are like lost ants
So our eyes have been pointed
…to our self ugliness
Our ears have been tuned to
…others’ greatness
Words have been written on our tongues
…detailing the need for us to be led
…as we can’t possibly know our own lands
…talk less of leading by ourselves
So we live like chickens
…acting dumbs and awaiting crumbs
…even if those crumbs need the severance
…of our thumbs
A new awakening is clearing the dark clouds, excitingly
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © August 25, 2019



The dressing of the nation
…determines its addressing in other nations
So seeing buttocks turned legs
…as burdened hands beg by roadsides,
Seeing rotten eyes
…turning in eyelids
…as hoarse voices sing sad sad tunes
…like Job at do or die jobs
Being given notes that read a plea
…for feeding fee
…for a deaf and dumb
Are no beautiful clothes for a continent
…in sights of visitors

Care for the vulnerable
…is the first plus of every Supreme entity
Because vulnerability is a door
…which attracts pests
…when left ajar
Let’s not make these sad sights
…part of our tourist attraction

Let’s think for those who have lost their thoughts
Let’s be the hands and legs of those who have lost theirs
…training the willing to be fed a fair deal
Let’s be the eyes of the visually impaired
Let’s be the voices of the soundless
To help repair our image
…on minds of the visiting
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © August 19, 2019


We are where we are
Because long ago, guardian spirits went to visit the Gods
…on our behalf
…and came back to a locked door
…with alien chants at their hunt

Fearing demons had besieged their people
…they called on the Gods to save the people
…but the people called the Gods Satan
…and named the guardian spirits
Banishing them to the nearby forest
…and naming the protective forest “evil”
…the Gods capital initial demoted
…like a faulted soldier
…to a common
Human spirits gathering at their chase
…with hooting claps
…and deafening curses of prayers

The waters they protected
…were soiled with litter
…until aliens who had seen their glitter
…mined their piety
The freedom they gave
…soon deminished
…but the people were dedicated
…their prayers intensifying
…like the Job they’d been told of
…whose severe suffering gave way to happy ending

Soon –
…the people were hunted like antelopes and dears
…and bundled to strange lands
…some of their very own trained to be architects of their woes
But they still prayed

They were made to curse their ancestors
…and were preached to be non-resistors
They were made to curse their birthright
…and were made to see all of theirs as not-right
They were made to bow to nothings
…and were scarred to live like nothings
Their lasses branded crass asses
…needed for short relief
…and thrown into grief
They still prayed
…and proceeded to evict the gods from the evil forest
…caring not about their dwelling
As the new masters
…mastered the art of drinking their libations
…and killing many many many of them
…on the ticket of their laws
The people still prayed

Now the gods are gone with their great spirits
…to Odomankomah knows where
As the people still stand on poor stages
…dancing to small gifts
…entertaining bigwigs
Their egos pounded with their pride
…and fed to dogs who act soldiers
…in their check
Yet the prayers intensify
…each day
There is no awakening
…that they murder their gods
…with alien incantations
…which has deluded them into thinking
…shouting prayers are all the hardwork needed
…for one’s own success

As selected few are fed on greed pans
Work for self growth
…sit lean by roadsides
…seen by visitors
…unseen by the people
As poverty carts them through paths
…and streets
…right to the highways

They still pray
…they still turn their ‘awakened’ evils
…and sit by as they are hunted and killed
…their deaths celebrated
As their prayers thank in ironic magnanimity

Prayers still fill the land
…deafening poor ears whose fear
…push them under beds of discomfort
Yet only the burns in the sun intensify
…only the drowning of the rains visit
The air acts gentle
…but spreads unknown illnesses in vengeance
None sees the wrong of the gods
…none wants to notice the sadness of the spirits
As prayers pile on prayers
…in the belief of the murders of the protectors turned devils
…as years pile on years after years
Such a sorry story!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © August 18, 2019


There is everything beautiful
…about a seed
…blown harshly from its mother tree
…luckily into the loam of stardom
And fruiting in abundance
…with capabilities of traveling back
…to help transform
…and feed the culture of its mother roots
…to the world
Beyonce has blown us beyond say

There is everything loveable
…about the seed forgetting all torture
…the history of hatred
…the choice of vengeance
…and existing differences
To help build her broken roots
Beyonce has blown us beyond say

She is now a moon
…travelling the sky with many stars
…on a beautiful road
…blessing all heads in turn
She is like a beautiful nightingale
…who has found the choir of her motherland
…leading as a mistress
And blessing the world with their soothing voices
Oh Beyonce has blown us beyond say!

If all her seeds will toe her line
…and bless their stages with Africa’s fine
No continent will dare to touch the shine
…out of the progress of the stages of Ebonies
If all the stars will look back home
…and build a part to repair the loss
…of their foundations’ so broken loose
…by years of cruelty now smoothening out
None can parraral the growth of Ebonies
…on development stages
We need more Akons
…and many Beyonces
To arch us on
…and take us beyond say

For we will rise above our sinking
…and will paddle on our divided thinking
To merge into flourishing
Conquering bitterness
…and intimidation
To bring smiles to our rolling ancestors
…whose mourning still shine
…in our struggling whine
For we’re one and the same people
…scattered to own the world
…by successful replants all over
As time travels
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © July 20, 2019


I see
I see sameness in variation
One in many and many in one
If only minds will see same

I see
I see blackness in shining armour
Swords of words and words of arrows
If only hands will use

I see
I see colours weathering on same skies
In a bond that binds and winds needing rewinds to cure our blindness
If only our eyes will look in same direction

I see
I see you in me and me in you
He in she and she in he
Perfection wrapped in uncertainties

I see
I see the future in today
A call in our fall
A wake for our take
No, not our take but we as Africa in a take over

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © March 10, 2019


You’ve been ate a lion’s eating
Your pot licked clean like an asanka of a famished seer
Even the veins in your womb have been drained of blood
Which shares your hope to other parts of your emaciated body
Why won’t every child come sensely vacant?

You’ve been ate a lion’s eating
No wonder your bones of failure
Precede your little flesh of freedom
How will milk in your breast not travel
Through dubious tunnels to be suckled by children of over ambitious schemers?

You’ve been ate a lion’s eating
Oh see how the pain makes you immobile
Sitting like simpa panyin as your exploiters
Dig your gold in the shine of your eyes
Moaning at the pleasure of your aiding leisure
And thanking the chains of your imprisoned mind for their treasure

You’ve been eaten a lion’s eating
You’ve been licked a dog’s licking
You’ve been chewed in absurd kissing
Oh mother in whose womb the rains of need flood
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Jan. 17, 2019


Walking back into the deserted forest of the past
I see sands of regrets
Watered by sweats of ghostly marathons in vain cheer
With tears acting as pickaxes
Digging gullies on once promising lands
Gullies draining dreams conceived from enthusiastic sacrifices
How I wish mouths stayed behind on journeys of death!

Look at fingers pointing at others
Neglecting the many fingers pointing at themselves!
Look at smiles massaging egos
While curses jump in racing chests!
Look at paid limbs digging graves for development
Forgetting death goes with immobility!
Look at me looking at me
Mind-caning “mes”
On grounds of judgement even in my attachment
As fear runs through my veins battling blood!
Look at work crying out for attention
Yet neglected like unwanted wives
While muscles chase skirts of sluggishness!
I wish voices of reason lived in a crusade each day
In every head!

Africans with weeping ancestors!
Africans sitting on wealth and living papers!
Africans being Africans in the uglies
Sidelining the beautiful
Mind of lions and lionesses
Acting cats and dogs!
Listen to the tears from Afar!!!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © May 25, 2018


Once upon a time

Our land was a loamy rhyme

Our airs sang for happy trees to chime

A bite was meant to tease tongues from lime

But all that, now, means no dime


When the cloth of colonialism

Met the scissors of independence

And freedom apparels were carefully tailored by hope

Little did we know greed will nurse itself in multiplications to feed

Leaving huge holes in our growing seeds

Holes in which many hovering pests shelter

To hunt the rest of our freedom juices

In a shadow slavery bid


How did general development melt into selfish aggrandizement?

How did sweat of paupers rain into barrels of the rich?

How did power fly from the masters to the servants?

How did truth metamorphose into lies

In a vice-versahood which gains applause on entertaining stages?

How did we get here?

We as children of embittered souls

Who fought their rage to get us a page!

How did we get here?


How do we break this cycle 

Of the oracle of greed?

How do we cast out the possessions of corruption in ourselves?

How do we get back the sensitivity of hurt

To feel our punches on our own selves?

How do we?

How do we?


If only darkness will work with light on its ruling nights

If only responsibilities will whip consciences in all spheres

If only capable heads will work with their legs

To jump from indifferent fences

If only political promises will gain colour from their white elephantship

If only

If only you will see me as you

And I will see you as me

And we will see our land as our mother

If only

If only…

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©August 23, 2017


I know the throat can nag

And force a king to lie on a rag

When its demands for water through its pipe is not met


I know the stomach can thunder

When its bond with food is put asunder

Giving in to any bet


I know eyes close not

When their vessels are tied in a weakened knot

As the body, like a drug addict, frets


I know every pore feels its sweat

And every soul in a body is a set

That is why hands take all they can get


But this is not it

We are children of warriors who oneness fitted

And through the axe of togetherness slit 

The throat of oppression

To give us this free mansion of supremacy

We are a set known in the Ubuntu

So why do some hands stray

To dupe themselves of the crown of development

Befitting our precious heads?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © August 2, 2017


The clock of change ticks

Transforming in shockaholics 

Yet many feed after thorny pricks

In places whose geography elude mapachronics

Living healthily by the green waters of kontomire

As others blinkardly gobble dead fishes in oily rivers


Gone are the days when elderly buttocks

Filled seats before their young

Gone are the days when older mouths talked

Into younger ears without boxing words 

Wearing fiercer gloves to houses into boxing ring of words

Gone are the days when skins lived in nature 

And returned to their maker without peels

Gone are those days when monies had no hands

In the preparation of peace meals

Gone are those days when chiefs were politics

And politricks hid in darkest places without celebrations

Gone are many things including nightfall

As night light battles that of day


Now one living in “Werewerekodi” struggles 

Without knowing the knots tied on his head

On an international market

One at “Frefrekobo” feels the heat of need

Without knowing his debts incurred for him

By names he will never be able to transcribe in life

Many unfortunate things have bodies

Parading like the ishes 

And becoming many’s wishes


If time could turn back to reverse some things

Setting rules before eye openings

Making hugs physical and not imoginal 

Squaring lives instead of half elevations

Life would have been better

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 28, 2017


When a yard is given

Extending to a mile is a given

Then some come in needful farm

Regardless of the harm

When a gate widely opens

Even mosquitoes can turn royals

Dictating to owners when to sleep and what to keep

Of course the malaria virus becomes a necessary tag 

Draw a needle for your poor pest

And it will turn into an axe

Give a knife to your foe

And it will metamorphose into a machete

Make tears quench the thirst of a dying in drought

And he will be sure to drive on your pain 

For your eyes to always rain

We have given more than necessary 

Now we forget the owners we are

In our love to serve

In the end

We are dancing clowns

On a stage set by blood so precious 

Blood of our ancestors 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 24, 2017


Image result for images of beautiful ghana

Pity our land

A land arrested and tamed

Into a free wild horse on its very habitat

Sat on and dragged with so many heavy things

Fed crumbs from our own pots

Oh cry! Cry for our land!


Pity our land

A land with so much yet thinks so little

And was confined by the mere sight of a gun

A land which fought their greatest enemy’s soldiers

Into a slight wake

A wake that stuck at freedom of body

And not of mind

Oh pity! Slap this land into Wakefulness!


Pity our land

Cry for this land of loam

Whose knees love the taste of sea sands

Oh Pity! Pity this land!

A land whose thoughts love to steal from itself

Digging its seeds before they germinate

Soiling its rivers before they join their seas

Oh pity! Pity our land!


Pity our land

Pity our land so full yet so empty

A land so beautiful but stuffed with self-hatred

A land so wealthy with brainwashing of poverty

A land ridden by shadows

Shadows which blend with our darkness

Darkness with no distinction

Oh pity! Pity our land


Pity our land

The land which knows no greatness unless its sunset

And knows no morning unless neighboring cock crows are heard

No matter how hard theirs drum in crowing

A land whose day lovers suck its blood at night

And pretend to water and till in the day

A land bedeviled by its own thoughts

Haunted by fake nightmares

And flogged by manipulations

Oh pity! Pity my land!


Pity our land

 Pity the land bleaching away its melanin

In hopes of seeing protected blood

Thinking vulnerability is ability

When its suns spew wrinkles and wilting

Pity o pity!

The land which lives in begging dreams

Begging which begs for its own destruction!

A land of scribes filled with filth 

Pity! Oh pity my land!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 7th June 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

Ghana Elections 2016: Patience; a Virtue

For a country whose hallmark is peace, it is sickening to see the manner in which the two major political parties are conducting themselves barely a day after elections. The impatience, the “taunts in call” which receives immediate response, the declaration of “leads” and “winnings”, the pain of watching as supporters’ temperament rise in tension puts the country in a bad frame.

I believe it is high time the New Patriotic Party (NPP) matures into a party which waits to act after declarations instead of stirring tempers. I also believe the National Democratic Congress (NDC) needs to be more civil in their responses to some of the press conferences by the opposition parties. Patience is a virtue in every outcome we have no control over or any outcome which demands the power of others. The law says the Electoral Commission of Ghana should be the team that organises and announces results. Why is that too difficult for parties to comply? Have we no faith at all in our system? Are we now too suspicious of our own souls to learn to trust in others for even a little while?

I watched with utter admiration, the press conference by the head of the Electoral Commission of Ghana, Charlotte Osei, and her calm appearance, her composure, her even tone, her reassurance spoke volumes of her competency and told the world she was on top of things. So what warranted the chaos that followed?

Supporters of both NPP and NDC must be careful in their jubilation. I believe the attitude of supporters are influencing their parties to act the way they do. No matter what happens, Ghana is the ultimate source of protection. If we break that, what will we have left? Are we ready to run through bushes to seek cover? Are we ready to be face violence, butchering, suffering and watch as our country tears apart? Are we ready to lose our credibility as one of the firm upholders of democracy? Who must die for who to lead in this era when our forefather’s blood still weep for development ad growth from their aggrieved graves? What will you say to them when you force yourself to die for a cause called chaos?

We need to learn from all the countries which held elections this year; from the United States of America’s famous elections to that of the Gambians. Reasoning is what makes us humans above all creatures. If Dr. Kwame Nkrumah declared for us freedom, we should learn to retain it by showing through our actions and inactions that we deserve it.

Please let us all be calm. Patience is a virtue. Whether NDC or NPP, we are all a nation with a body called Ghana. We are brothers and sisters in our motherland. We are one people with minds capable of talking through our differences and winning in the face of difficulties. Please let us pledge peace and maintain it. A win for one should be a win for all.


Image result for images of women voting in Ghana

Humans are known to be political animals. The saying did not exclude women from this saying but in Africa, reality speaks volumes of backing the notion that “men are the real political animals”, talking about men, not the Biblical ‘men’ where women are included, just the men in the gender state. It is sad to strike a percentage of women to men in the political system in Africa. Liberia’s Johnson is a rare find in what seems to be the ‘gravels to hold the mud’; the gravels- few educated women, mud; the many semi-literate and uneducated women. Felicitations to Uganda efforts in this matter but is it enough? For a continent whose women suffer in all aspects than men, it is a big shame.

Men have many choices which women do not have. The less said about derogatory utterances by some prominent people of the land, the better. Need I mention Nigeria’s leading man’s famous statement of his wife’s foremost responsibilities being to take care of all his rooms with the exception of a board room? A man can have as many wives as he wants, thanks to polygamy. When men take on more wives, they are at liberty to shed their responsibilities; they could care less about what the children will eat, their school fees, shelter, to mention but a few. It would be up to the woman to fend for the children. For such beings who everything affect, from educational policies to inflation to increment in utility bills to legislative laws, it does not make sense that only few are involved in governance. Now let me narrow down to my country Ghana.

It is on record that, of the 275 parliamentarians, only 29 are women, that is, 21.8% representation of women, who constitute 49.1% of the country’s population according to, as of the time of this writing. Remember, women might be more considering many are born without proper documentation and censuses always have their flaws. As of January 2016,–99943 reported that out of the 18,938 slots for the District Assembly seats, 17, 783 men contested as against 1,155 and less than half of the 1,155 women were elected.

What are the problems hindering the participation of women in the political system? Surely it is not a matter of competence. I believe the first factor is lack of confidence. Many women are bred on the proverb that “if a woman buys a gun, it lies on the chest of a man” and “no matter how high a woman rises, her place is in the kitchen of man”. Most women grow to accept these proverbs and live by them, making sure they kill their ambitions before they acquire the necessary qualifications to aspire higher. I will say, if a woman buys a gun which automatically becomes the property of a man, there are so many interpretations to it, the man can either be a guard to protect her from harm as she lives to bless him with prestige or the man can use it to kill her ambitions. It is sad to know that most men choose the latter on this African Continent. For the second proverb, I admire the bravery of men, men who know those who hold their stomachs and still enslave them! Can’t food be medicine and at the same time poison? Will it not be better, if better informed heads and hands grace your kitchen to prepare you the best foods there are? Why do men always seek the difficult ways out?

There is also the matter of ego in political parties and electorate. Most political parties believe women are only good for the position of “Women’s Organisers”. How sad! A woman cannot dare to compete with men even through the primaries, let alone get through to stand to be elected. I believe affirmative action helped women to get to the 21.8% mark but is it not embarrassing? When there are competent women who can go against men, matching them in debates and all that are needed to call for votes of electorate? Funny enough, Hillary Clinton’s loss might even destroy the little hope we have of women getting equal representation in politics in Ghana. The many tongues wagging “if even the United States of America failed to vote for Hillary, knowing fully well that she was a better option, partly based on the fact that she is female, why will a Ghanaian man, who is a man, vote for a woman?” What is more painful is the addition “stop deceiving yourselves, women can never and will never be at par with men where politics and for that matter, important decisions of the world is concerned”. Personally, I have heard so many of these statements from my peers, educated as they are, that I feel it is fast becoming a “men anthem”

Can corruption be left out? It is a fact that women, when given the chance to govern, do so with little or no corruption, but politics even at the grass root needs a corrupt person. A person who has political ambition needs to win the trust of foot soldiers, chiefs, party members and finally the electorate. All these people need favours ranging from financial (paying upfront) to contractual (future payment mostly through MOUs), rumours have it. So only the rich can afford to venture into politics, and let us face facts, how many women in Ghana have the wealth to challenge? Let us not forget that for most, the fact that your husband is rich does not make you rich, he might choose to buy anything you need to make you the trophy he needs as a decoration but will not help you grow higher than he is (chance mostly taught of as grounds for disrespect). What is a woman to do?

Is the media helping? Little mistakes by women in power are made ‘gargantuan’ for lack of a better word, working further to destroy the little thoughts which support women in power. Statements like “leave them, you know how women are, they become unbearable immediately they are pushed into high positions” also do not help. Six months ago, I had the opportunity of joining a friend in a gathering in one of the small villages in the Upper West. They called it a community meeting. Apart from three facilitators, including myself, who were ladies, all the people who were supposedly the representation of the village were men. The complaints of their failing educational system were blamed mostly on women who they claimed “left their positions because of pregnancies and births, are lazy and could not teach properly and are gossips so leave their jobs for the activity during classes hours” I specifically asked them if only women were the teacher of the village school and they were able to tell me less than 20% of the teachers were women. Asked to whether they have tried cautioning and querying them, silence was the answer. I could see most of the eyes of the men moving round and round as I spoke without fear and intimidation. My advice was clear, stop blaming women for the problems of this community, childbirth is natural and there are measures for them in the Ghana Education Service. If community leaders do not give women the vote of confidence and go on to always pour their negative thoughts on them, which woman will have the confidence to aspire for political power?

Believe it or not, there are women in Ghana who believe women are not fit to be in power, talk less of they aspiring. Some women do not know their rights let alone fight for them. As a woman who was told by some men in my current station (Northern Region) when I first came here to teach six years ago, that “a woman’s voice must not be heard by men except her husband” and was advised to transfer to a girl’s school so as to “stop causing some big boys in some classes to sin”, I believe I need not say more. If these men have women, and yes they do, of course, will they not have the same opinion or be made to believe it considering the fact that a quotation from a holy book backed the claim?

I could go on and on and on, the bottom line is, I call on the world to see women as the powerful beings they are, that is not to say that men are powerless. I call on women to learn to support their fellow women; “single brooms break easily”. I call on fellow educated women to educate their uneducated peers on their rights and low representation of women in key positions and its effects, I call on Ghanaians to vote for their competent women candidates. A journey of a billion miles, even a ‘zillion’ miles, still starts with a step.

(Photo Credit: Zaa Radio 99.3 FM)


There was a time
When stories, like scary whips
Ruled the consciences of growing heads
Declawing the roaring
Un-canining monsters
Lighting dark hearts
Strengthening the weak
Shaping faults into saintly vaults
Spirits in story clothes!
Did we leave them for myths undecipherable?

Our ancestors were wise
So wise in most
That we could actually boast
But the boastables turned roastables
As civilisation enticed stealing of habits so alien to our realms
Now very green leaves
Have demystified curiosities of new marital bliss
Weakening the bones of beds
Long before fours are handcuffed into them
Where did sanity leave us for banalities?

No buttocks of the young
Graced the pates of chairs while the old stood
No ears of the growing
Were found close to places where mouths of the grown played
No sound of the young crashed adult discipline, anger or complain
No elderly head
Entertained loads at the sight of a youngster
All elders parented
All children consented
Westernizing Ghananiasms into Africanisms?
How good are the servings on modern plates?

Who opened the colonial gate?
There are hot coals on our pates!
Who made this horror bait?
How many can stand the chaotic dates?
Who changed our beautiful fate into slave crates?
Isn’t there too much to hate?
When did all age become mates?
At this rate, isn’t it getting late?
I can hardly stand the revolutionary wait
State the traits on the reality slate

Exhume the ancestral torches of rightness
To help find the paths long deserted
Water the dead plants of cool history
To get us into the right chemistry
Sound the bells our nature knew
To get sanity in our crew
We were not blind followers of white robes
We were Afris who could
Who says we still can’t?
I say we can, Can and CAN!!!
Who says sankofa is a path un-treadable?
Realization is all it takes!!!
It is not a meal with allergies!!!
Dead firewood needs just a little flame to light!!!
No abomination hovers its estate!!!
So let’s be sankofied
To uproot the hydra that modernity plants
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) September 9, 2016



From Algeria to Zimbabwe
Only minus Morocco
The strong 54 stand like a team
Combating like dedicated soldiers on the battle front
Cool huh?
Thank you Dr. Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana
For your visions which birthed this union

Although little mosquitoes are proving difficult in battle
Undemocratic regimes shielded in greed stand as your opponents
Civil wars hold hands with poverty
Draining the standard of living of you and yours
Famine, desertification,
Lack ecological sustainability
And Western Sahara battles legal issues,
You are doing what Napoleon couldn’t
Taking the walk, though slowly
To the land of union you seek

You held Togo’s second Gnassingbe’s neck
With words
And forced him to the election polls
In 2005
Your discipline of Mauritania still stands
Teaching her slowly since 2007 to be sane in democracy
Your helping Mali to find its feet in 2013
Is a feat worth mentioning
You are a great union
AU you are on your feet

Your active participation for peace
Makes you a Moses
Leading us to the land of peace
From crises in Darfur
Through to Somalia
Cote d’Ivoire and more
Are just proves of your dedication

We hold hands to pray for your dreams to mature
In 2023
So our free trade area
Customs union
And central bank will walk into active and successful reality
To give us more power over our economy

You keep representing us
Fighting for us like the small David
Some may have no hope in you
But when our problematic Goliaths fall
There will be no division
We will wave our flags in oneness
Knowing no differences
Seeing no varied colours

Thabo Mbeki
Joachim Chissano
Olusegun Obasanjo
Dennis Sassou Nguesso
John Agyekum Kufour
Jakaya Kikwete
Muammar Al Gadafi
Bingu wa Mutharika
Theodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo
Yayi Boni
Hailemariam Desalegn
Mohammed Ould Abdel Aziz
Robert Mugabe
Idriss Deby
All you whose buttocks have tasted the chair
And all those yet to climb for the crown of union
Prayers for you
You are part of our frontliners
You stand for us
We say Ayekoo!
For the great works you are doing
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016
Photo Credit: Google pics


A good love is like the sun and moon
A part sleeps when a part is at post
They appear even if they vanish for a while
Always smiling
A good lover hunts for happiness
For the one who holds the time of his heart
And will gladly lay down his life with a smile
If the lover so wishes

He created our space
Eliminated the snow which so so cages
But arranged the harmattan
Which cleans our tan
Gave us from gold to beautifully shaped trees
Ones which clap
Ones which whistle with the dancing air
Ones which birth very natural edibles
Ones which heal very intense ails
As petroleum flows beneath our land
This is where dogs are the servants
Who hunt as humans chant
Dogs are the servants who feed themselves
Freedom of the wild
Freedom of the home
Freedom in which the wild lives in harmony with the domestic

Family here is like a gigantic tree
Leaves and branches are never lonely
Laughter and tears get teeth and arms
For company and love
It’s true the paddlers are having us stray
It’s true our shine is making us blind
It’s true we slack and lag behind
But lovers are lovers
Their advantages numerous

Africa is in the centre of His heart
Lying safely like a child in a safe eternal womb
Of one who will see no in of  a tomb
It’s beings protected right from their skins
Africa is in the heart of His Mythical Highness
His Omnipotent
Omniscient Redeemer!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


No matter how tight
A rope ties a tree
In order to see the face of the sky
In ambitions to tie the sky
To see the heavens
It coils back to hug
The head of the tree
After realizing the sky gives no ladder

We of the “dumsor”clan
Danced to the disco rhythms
Of electrical phantography
Until we realised the disk jockey
Was a cute self slaughtered but very kicking dead goat
On the throne of kings

Did we not see?
Did we not see male legs kicking caked balloons
Digging gold blocks in the midst of dust
As that of female legs yawn in digging
Until sympathising mouths call for their compensation?

Did we not watch as goats carried yams
And walked into chambers of gargantuan courtal gods
To trash cases which call for heads of their carriers
As innocent hearts are whipped into public guilt?

Blood of the innocent
Have cried in their wrongness
A Gyan rapeness
Turned wrong in silliness
The Nelson Vigil
Showered its host with victimization
Even a Wisa dangled his accursed cucumber
For tongues to wag on its dreary secret

The dumsor king
Promised his throne
But found a way to keep it
In the dying minute of his timed promise
We of the golden belt
Ghana “mma” have seen it all
Waiting to be dazzled by the screens of 2016
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


There is a Pan African anger

Which has created many an avenger

So much they want a changer

With one body, they work like a fate arranger

They curse the foreign endanger

And say their faith is our freedom exchanger

And our old gods imprisoned for their baby in the manger

Who is a complete stranger

And dipped our land in danger

To make us their stooging strangers


They seek out the buried kola

Dig out broken calabashes…

Promising to mend their fabrics

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

Photo Credit:


When I ‘broke my hand’
And sought a band
Nana and Maame met in a band
To sing tribal tunes

They started by singing of Ewes
And how they are named after an animal
And raised their vocals like daunting pianists
To sing tales of the wickedness of the animal tribe
Their love for blood
In revenge
Their yearning for stealing rather than being given
Their love for spells
“Tukwei” Killing in just seven days
And their trait of marrying their own
Even after marrying from another tribe
Nothing was good about them in mama and grandma’s duet

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015




A man went to Navorongo looking for a place to stay. The people gave him a vast piece of land. Little did they know that he was a slave trader. The people named him Nania Pikworo  meaning, “a bush man” in the local language. Pikworo established the trade in 1704. He started it by himself but was later joined by Samori and Babatu.


This was the source of water for the slaves. It is believed that no matter the draught, this particular water remains active to satisfy the thirst of the slaves and help them do their chores.




We were led to their grinding mill where DSC09552they used stones to grind their meals.


Fascinated children looked on




This was their entertainment hall. Four people were selected from one tribe to play here as the others sang and danced beneath the rocks. For them to play well, they were well fed and the feeding songs attracted others to come and watch, the feeding also attracted others to come and join the slaves. Those who realised they would be sold later and tried to run away were sent to the punishment rock to be dealt with. According to the history, some rebelled and were sent there severally in order to die. They preferred death to being sold.


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Their dinning hall. They dug into the stones to create their own bowls. Bowls they ate in. So foods will be put into these bowls and more than five people will share a meal in one bowl.




It is a very big land





And many stones abound. It was noted that the slaves were tied on the trees when they are brought in.






This is the watch tower. A trusted slave is ordered to stand here and watch out for strangers and rebels who wanted to fight the slave lords for their captured people. These people never succeeded because the slave traders were more powerful and were armed with guns. So they were mostly gunned down before they reached the place.



Head of Department of English at Tamale Senior High posing to honour his ancestors.








Graves of dead slaves. According to the history, the dead slaves were given mass burials in a grave meant for one. So graves were never covered until they were filled up.


A filled grave looked like this, some stones were placed on it to mark its “fulfilment”


We were sad but as Kofi Awoonor will say, death shall die, and sincee slavery is dead now and Pikworo, Babatu, and samori are gone, we posed in honour of the “wronged” dead people



Just close to the cemetery is the Punishment Rock which faces directly the sun. So slaves who defied the rules were made to sit on this rock, tied firmly and made to look at the heated sun (those who know the Upper East of Ghana know the sun’s rays can kill if one does not take cover) so many went blind, others became weak and sickly and died. Immediately they died from the sun and the burns from the heated rocks, they were tossed into the ready grave.

So this is the punishment rock in all its threats even way after its meals of punishments have been abolished.






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Tired from the heat of the sun and the dense thought of souls sold on this terrain coupled with the pain of death of many whose lives were never allowed to blossom let alone whither.
These men volunteer to play sounds with the stones to entertain us. All we needed to do was give them something to buy water out of the goodness of our hearts.


This is where the slaves were brought and paraded to be sold. They were sold based on their strengths and it was a barter trade. They were traded for mirrors, guns, gun powder and alcoholic drinks.DSC09575

After being sold, they were fed a little before taken through the journey. Thise who became weak in the course of the journey were thrown into bushes that wild animals were. So the animals could feed on them.DSC09576

Trees which has probably tasted more than millions of blood





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The reception of the Pikworo Slave Camp.


You know it will not be us if we do not do something fun

DSC09541The slave camp was abolished in 1845


On our way we realized that there were lots of baobab trees in Navorongo. They call it the evil tree but use its leaves for soup and seeds for drinks. According to the inhabitants, the baobab tree in houses are sometimes tied with bandages to prevent to prevent them from crying at night. When they grow to a point they cry at night like human beings. So they are not touched with knives. Their barks are smooth. They grow to their own capacity and die. But when they die, no body knows. Because they still look fresh. So they are considered dangerous because they can kill when they fall and they fall without notice.



Once upon the time

There were no claws to lazy rhyme

All heeded the call of work in their prime

And corruption gained nothing, not even a dime

But now even steering banku has become a crime

As dead foods do the fresh ones mime


Once upon a time

Cotton flew and danced with laughing air

Like an emancipated crown princess with her rightful sir

Without having no cages of bondage so unfair

Then, nakedness was nothing rare

As cold was nothing beings could not bear

As buttocks danced to amaze eyes without a care


Once upon a time

Sticks of men were tasted only in forever-more

As fornication and adultery seldom created a sore

None needed more than necessary to bore

Nothing was hidden in clothes of deceits, all raw

Then, procreation and company were the most core

As strength for the fair was most to the fore


Once upon a time

Envy was a thing the gods abhorred

And no good growth needed it stored

As the goddesses danced on holy days restored

Muscles relaxed in beds or in games of oware to defray the bored

None dared to break the untouchable chords of any god

No living or myth was known as lord


Once upon a time

Only heads ruled hearts

Things never ruled hearts

Materials held no death bats

Over-copying had no visions greater than night cats’

Let alone chase the rightfuls into frames of rats

Crippling them in death hats


Once upon a time

Once upon a time

Once upon a peaceful time

All that was fair rhymed

I guess we are over-timed

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015






When the cage of colonialism caught Africa

And the whips of inferiorism caught black minds

Some wrestled with their fists

Others bickered like rivals of foolishness

Some hid like lions with their tails in between their legs

Oh some worshipped hoping to break free

You stood like mountains with minds they sold

And developed muscles to battle oppression

You knew there will be aggression

You knew there will be suppression

You knew there will be times to smell the stench of prisons

But you braved all fearful reasons

Like gallants of the land of Africa

And held the clothes of colonialism

Tearing parts from Gold Coast 

Ebenezer Ako Adjei

Edward Akuffo Addo

Joseph Boakye Danquah

William Ofori Atta

Emmanuel Obetsebi Lamptey

Kwame Nkrumah

Yes, we saw the nakedness of colonial minds through you

Yes, you rose and tore some chains that bounded minds

Giving hope to soldiers of Ghana used and discarded like rags

We are breathing the breath of freedom

Because of your wisdom to free with tact

We are here today because of your inclusion of a mind so apt

Nkrumah Kwame

Kwame Nkrumah

Dr. Kwame Nkrumah

In your struggle to break free from the cage

Which had become so small for our ancestral eagles

We fly today even through all abhorrence

We can cry today 

For you gave us our voices

We rest today as you gave our honour

We fend, although partly in lend, for our minds and mouths

Thanks to your gallantry

Your fearlessness

Your courage

Your patriotism

Your love

Your thoughtfulness

So a day like this goes for all of you

We feed your spirits with gratefulness

We thank your restfuls with our hold on the reins of  freedom

We bless your souls with our hearts so relieved

And bless our maker for sending you

To save our land which was turned loo

And help plough and harvest

Generations to tend and fend

May your spirits rest and continiously pray

For our total liberation

Until we stand unmatched on our feet in development

Long live the founders!

Long live the big six!!

Long live Ghana!!!

Long live Africa!!!!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Stitching skins
Fixing bones
Like one with God’s hands
She lives like sickness’ feared zone
None dares to look for any ills
In her body territory
But sicknesses know the saying
A cat is best suited
For the safekeeping of meat
So what she healed
Crawled like dying snakes
Into her being and gained strength
From her special places
So much for Godship prominence
“Mmmmm, Agyeiiii! Pue! Ahhhh!”
She lies in front of eyes of interest
Naked like a featherless fowl
Under the scrutiny of hungry but uninterested hawks
Receiving rains of shocks
From dark rooms of mouths
Some casting their sun’s rays
For others to have a proper look
Poor poor sick doctor!
I wish I had a hand like hers
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Asaase Abibire!
Sit on a listening stool
And answer your queries
Maybe, just maybe, you might convince your host

Why do you boil egos of your masculines
Until they attain unbreakable statuses in negation?
Why do you create those
Who destroy their earth routes
And kill spirits who aim to make their names immortal?
Of what use is cowried ego which have sluggish hands?
Of what use is the wrong who raise others to love being wronged to your kingdom?
Let’s move to other realms

Now answer this too
And don’t keep mute like you always do
Why do you keep hearts of murderers
Who are sluggish and only love to fry, boil and pour blood of their own?
Why do you keep them?
Can’t you swallow them whole and leave this place peaceful?

Why do you allow new ails
Which have voluminous appetites into your territory?
Do you love the horror spectacles you present?
Do you know no shame?
Don’t you get tired receiving blames?
Do you find sympathy and fear for you as game?
And on top of that you keep greedy power hungry rein holders?

You are a disgraced queen
You are a beautiful mannequin
You are a fallen innocentia
You are torture even for pious eyes
You are a nightmare
Just because of a few out of your lot
Learn to shelter your ills
You aren’t the only one with thunderous abominables
Why do you put words in facts
In the mouth of your fans and foes?

You keep mute and sit!
Just think of a good way
A good way to solve your troubles
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


pull out your canes of sanity
whip up your thoughts of humanity
fire up your thunders of knowledge
To create internal laws
In minds like caves of cannibals

sprinkle your light sun to lure sanity

fire up your pins of light to soften
minds as hard as stubborn ‘kaworo’

blow your breezes to pacify softened thoughts
to make our nations
hold hands like the siblings they are
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


I think a mosquito bit Nelson Mandela
An anopheles mosquito
He caught it
But saw it as waste
If he killed a mosquito which could not give him back his blood
And so he let it be
Such a mistake it was

So this mosquito went ahead to breed
And bred barbarisms
Lazy cocoons who blame everyone but themselves
For their woes
And so repulsively rebel

They demand for knives
Of those who hold their lives
When all they’ll do is butcher
And can’t save a rat
Oh how shameful

To think that those contouric heads
Have nothing better to show
For the blood they took
Who peacefully let them be
Could it be the mosquitoes are on ganja?

Look at the parasites without plans
Acting like Egyptians hurting Israelites
When they know they have a Moses
Whose ordinary stick can plague their land

They are breaking their foundation
What will become of a bowl
With a hole so big?
Like owls feared in superstition but mortal
The south mosquitoes will realise too late
Their flaws when the potent mosquito sprays are set on their territories
Too bad it will bomb them
Together with their regret
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


I wish I can be an arrow

Which could pierce without sorrow

And enter into brain marrows

Of those who cause humans sorrows

But I am like all

They fall and I fall

They call and I call

They stall and I stall

Shadows of shadows of shadows!

And the shadows are painful arrows!


What is a fight?

Why do we use claws?

How did we get claws?

We are now lions and lionesses

Tigers and tigresses

Hyenas craving left overs of carcasses

Gloom turns doom before bloom

And farmers blame the working weathers!

We need brains with wings

Brains with eagle wings

Not brains like little bird feathers

If only I could be an enlightenment arrow

On this beautiful velvety black realm!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

What South African Brutalities May Spark

With this current news of the xenophobic attacks is hidden chaos that the rioters fail to notice and I’ll go straight to the point.
South Africans are also in other African countries working and owning properties, the message being sent to them is to burn them alive, kill or sack them from their countries, won’t that be war?
Ghana is a very peaceful and friendly country but news got round that David Oscar, one of our comedians, entreated all Ghanaians to stop purchasing goods from South Africans. Hasn’t it already started?
Most of the people creating the chaos in South Africa have no knowledge in any field neither do they have vocations. Supposing other Africans decide to leave with their expertise, what that means is that the country’s human resource will dwindle, leaving the country in loss, can they handle it?
Again, this chaos can destroy the friendly relations between African States and South Africa. That means importations from African countries and help will seize. Can they handle that too?
If this continues, the African Union and United Nations might have to come in eventually, washing our dirty linen in public, must we always be the spectacles of horror?
This will also affect tourism and creation of jobs by foreigners. If up to now you have no ideas let alone a Job and you blame someone trying to employ or help, what can you do when the person’s services are no longer there and you have no ideas as to how to go about creating a livelihood?
There are many more if we think about this issue. It is only a child in diapers who makes a fuss when he soils himself in hopes of someone cleaning his mess.
We have been travelling this independent road for too long and need to clean the mess we create for others to see the maturity. The government is not the president and his cabinet only. The government is not the political parties only, the government is the people, and the people at most. For producing a man who hated aggression and was known as a martyr of peace, South Africans involved should know that Nelson Mandela is tossing in his grave at this very instant. Before anyone chews the hands of a baboon, he or she must watch his own. A word to the wise is enough.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)2015


Scars of slavery
Scars of rebellion
Scars of half freedom
Scars of neo colonialism
Scars of coups
Scars of internal wars
Have now given birth to
Scars of terrorism
Scars of brutality
With these many scars
How can we still not feel the experience?
How can we not pull the clothes of togetherness on our bodies?
How can we still be running in our tracks?
It is sad
This is sad
We are sad livers
And I cry for my continent
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015


Gone are the days
When Ghanaian children feared ‘kakai’
Now only villagers, coastal children and children with naturalistic parents get to bath in natural waters
What was a swimming pool then?
An anachronistic thought

Now, ‘mpotompoto’ and ‘coco’
Are for the villagers and children with grand mothers
Ei! With the lac lac lac in milk and sugar
Abound on the market
Who wants to be primitive?
I shake my head

Even watching the stars at night
Counting them in childlikeness
Running in hide and seek
All are swiped by ‘Kojo-Televisin’
And its game friends

When teenagers took runs
As they went to the streams
Fetching and helping each other to carry their pots
Oh, that too is gone with the emergence of ‘Ama-pipe’

‘Jaco’ and ‘antowankyire e!
Obi nfere Nanasei mma me
Na me si obiba Abena, na me si obiba Abena
Na me si obiba Aaabena
Na me si obiba Aaabena…’
Oh! All those times are lost for modernity

Africa lived then
Ghana lived then
Nature’s departure is true happiness’ rapture
Well, a new form of happiness has captured
What can I say?
Life goes on
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)2015



Tears of children rise

From empty stomachs

Wasting energies without

For innocent faces to get visitors of drowning tears,

And you sit on thrones fighting superiority?



Many enterprises die

Killed by lack of energy foods

School children embrace darkness

And shun learning

Through no fault of begging books

And you, on high pedestals think of propaganda?


Africa oh Africa!

Corruption is a bulldozer

Breaking down the very foundations

Our ancestors toiled to build,

Making hot love to drivers who swore to save

And you sit claiming you have great history

When the pungent scent of your history

Murder noses in far away geographic arena?


Do I need to talk diseases

When it is most horrible than faeces?

From AIDS, Malaria to ebola:

The slow to hot killers

What good can sitting resources do

When many mouths are open

Ready for its consumptive arrest?


Africa oh Africa!

You do have great cultures

Tainted by carelessness

Africa! Africa! Africa!

Wake from your slumber

And get an agenda!!!!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



When hands suffer to beat drums

And parched throats wince as they taste rums

Feet must be whipped when they stay calm


As the hands make the sounds

Let the feet do the rounds

Like possessed by the gods who watch


Africa is a dancing god

Africans are dancers for the sun and moon

Only fireflies must be ignored


So dance till sorrows turn sweat

Dance, till sickness regrets

Dance till colours speak for themselves

This light is the light from shinning dark

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015



When hunters’ hunts unveiled her

She sat in mystery like the virgin she was

Adorned by great forests

Clothed by beautiful trees

Surrounded by caring rivers

Being serenaded by great seas

As she sat on the much need riches

Scared at first, they sought to shoot

Then realized her worth

And sought to take

They then realized their defence

So sought to mesmerize

When it proved futile

They resorted to rape

How hurting!

Tearing her forests and uncovering her body

How hurting!

Using her vegetation to beat and subdue her

How hurting!

Raping Africa and breaking her golden hymen!

How hurting!

Leaving her a whore to be dug in times of need

How hurting!

The haunting thoughts of the African raped!

How hurting!

Being tutored to love the rape!

May God save her from these thoughts

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015




An eating habit

Freeing the soul and taste bud

In tongue-land like eagle wings

Could do all good

Any day the sun shines, dims, blurs or goes to sleep


I don’t live like a grasshopper!

My tongue might run like an alien

But the same tongue runs smoother like the native I am

Who is African?

Ask me that, and I’ll tell you I’m that she

That she who lives in the dirt

That she who lives through fees of petrol with running legs

That she who stays to help fix it all

That she who enjoys the sun

That she who is grateful for the rainy days

That she who listens to mouths of know-nots yapping on radios

and is mostly disgusted but knows they are of her flesh

That she whose eyes dance to the disco lights through her bulb on her bed

That she who is confused as to what to wear

blending trousers with “kaba”

knowing “amoasene” is archaic

Yes, I’m that she, that she with blood of blackness

Blackness which is not doom

Blackness which is African

Blood with compassion

Blood with arms opened wide

And heart opened to share what should be shared:


Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



The road prostitutes

Letting all vehicles through

Why doesn’t she have a voice?

Poor roads,

Even in rain, you accommodate all

In heat, you are accommodative of all

No rest for you?

Like a helpless beauty, you lie

As your beautiful flower is being flawed

By layers and layers of ungrateful tires

The washing bays mess you up

As others litter your gutters

Gutters you inhale from all the time

The sellers sit at your edges

As hawkers make you their walking ground

Animal droppings decorate you

While blood sometimes garnish your dirt

Drivers curse into your eardrums

As some spit on your face

Do you curse your maker?

Don’t you feel even a little sad?

Am I the only one seeing your suffering?

Somehow it saddens me

How you are exactly like Africa

The beautiful Africa with known children

Like Ghana, Nigeria, Angola, Togo,

South Africa, and many good others

Whose heads are ridden through like

Vehicles ride through you

But you are eternally hopeless

I pray the spark of hope in Africa

Shines to light her being

Being like you is an endless suicide

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


Once in a flowing dress

I walked along the sea in duress

Hoping the breeze would help caress

My soul, and tow the wrecked pain on my mind

Then I saw her;

A woman of women and men

With hair like protective bush

Too beautiful with no room for transparency

A face like God

Looking at it, none gets bored

Its beauty could cut like a sword

In her eyes, waters of love dance

Putting lookers into trance

Making all wish to in it dance

Her ringed neck was adorned with the finest of beads

In her breasts were sewn beautiful promising seeds

Her arms like a welcoming path,

Promised me a bath

No matter my thinking maths.

Her clothes of many living greens;

Some with many healing spleens

And others with many nourishing teens,

Flowed like an unseen garment

Down her flawless adornments

I bet critiques would have no bad judgements.

At a glance

I took a stance

I wanted to be her, down to her little nuances

She was all

Golden mother who would take all fall,

Working father with boiling red blood,

An embodiment of foods ready to feed

And showed all one wished to see with a shinning black star

She trivialised all I was

But I looked at her then

Looked at me

And felt strange

I was in her

That was my mother

Yes, me viewing my great motherland,

A land in Africa shining brighter than usual

A land bridging all hurdles and standing tall,

That was me watching Ghana, my motherland

I can’t be more proud, relieved and safe

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Many talk of Africa

The poor poor Africa

The dessert placed Africa

Mother of bushes, poor Africa

The wild rearing Africa

The illiterate realmed Africa

The ill bred Africa

The jungle Africa


I am in Africa

Born and bred in Africa

Knows its boundaries, this Africa

Feel its warmth, sweet Africa

I have tasted pure seeds in Africa

Have sipped from pure minds in Africa

Where else can I breathe like Africa?

My sweet sweet Africa!

The winds are pure in Africa

Yes, there are scares in Africa

And there are problems in Africa

But which place lacks these under the sky?

I won’t gave a horror face to Africa

I see my Africa

My Africa is a woman

A woman discovered as a girl

A girl pure in nature

A bit mischievous, but serene

Even friendly dogs bite 

When they sense peril

So harmed by intruders

Who caught her young like goats

She rebelled, who wouldn’t?

With time she gained her freedom

And now she picks herself up

Saddled by the greed of her own

Her transition to refinement is not easy

But she lives through with hope

This beautiful lady draped in many colours

Is my Africa

So taint not my Africa

Know her before you speak of Africa

A hospitable fellow who has taken in offenders

And is treating many with hospitality

Everything tastes good

And herbs cure many

I love my Africa

If she is a lion

She roars to protect her young

This is my Africa

And the Africa which needs uncovering

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Professor Yaw Darko

Hated Mr. P aul Arko

He claims he copies westerners

While he epitomises Africanness


He wears African colours

And hates all foreign “shudders”

He speaks in African tongue

And so feels among


He fights Mr. Paul Arko

Who is not like he Darko

Because he wears foreign

And drives cars like he is soaring


Ei! Darko gets some money

And gets a car to get some honey

Before any African style could speak

He has reached his foreign peak


And so his people asks him

Why are you now called Tim?

He thinks aloud

And shouts, money maketh foreign

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


On winter’s tail

Africa has stepped,

Stopping snow in its tracks

Getting a hold on cold


Little did Kwaku know

This luxury is found only in the

Belly of Africa 

 Africa goes no further


He runs for pastures

Hoping to attract good gestures

But falls into the hands

Of snow and onto the bosom of cold


“Mama Africa! Mama Africa!”

But the ears of Africa lie far back

A million tongues can have no shouts

Deep enough to reach her


The Prodigal Kwaku weeps

The cold threatens to fold him

In a thousand pieces and box

Him to his mother who is wicked to it in her territory


Everywhere is here

Lying in the bosom of a mother

Can never equal that of monstrous cold

Kwaku learnt too late

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014












She lies like the vast ocean

Knowing not her tenants’ mission

With five legs and 49 intestines

She feels like a Frankenstein’s Monster


She created a world for herself

And stayed back watching it glow

But the glow turned into tears which flow

Without a thought to her soiled self


49 within, 5 without

“Afri” in the mud “ca” in the gutter

Nothing for her

Her caretakers are the takers


A penny in

And the torn pocket picks

Poor “Afri”

Poor “ca”

You look like you’re beyond prayers

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014












In the heat of the sun

And the shame of the poor


Amidst the problems which stand tall

And the pain with no gain


Even on the market which sells the bad

And the faces which are made sad


With the many viruses walking around

And some feared terrorists putting us in doubt


In the storms which raves here mad

And the many children who are discarded


There is that place reserved for hospitality

For respect

For love

For freedom

For laughter

For life

On any African soil

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014














Africa is not a bush

It is also no country

There aren’t people living on trees

Houses, mansions, great architecture

And great minds are found in Africa

Which including its Island Nations

Are 54 countries in all


Africa is a continent

Like Asian Continent

And the European continent

And not a country

So one can be a Ghanaian

Who knows only about Ghana

And has never travelled across the continent

We are not the same

We have our differences

Just as other continents do


Africa is a continent

And not a country

All those who mistake the problems

Of one with the other

Must bow their heads in shame

For illiteracy is really a shameful disease

Go to the doctor of books and be cured


Africa is not a country

But a continent

Our traits are different

Our languages different

Our tones are different

Our lives so different

Our cultures are different

Our geographical locations so different

Although most of us have the priceless black skin


Just go straight to the books

And learn what needs be

Be blinded not by racism

And labelling

Africa is a continent

And not a country

Let those who think themselves schooled

Go and be schooled again

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



Natural Africa










Upon their touch

Innocence developed eagle wings

And flew to a city of no return



Upon their touch

Nature became an artificial lion

Roaring in pollution of bodies


Upon their touch

The gods were thrown like rotten meats

Into the den of hungry hyenas


Upon their touch

Wealth of life were neglected

For meaningless wealth of materials


Upon their touch

The beauty of life was stained

Because the native Africans saw they were truly naked

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



They sit on the fury of the gods

And fan them to snooze

Everyone is onboard this sin against the gods


Some watch as some touch

The symbolic tails of the chained seer

To hide their sins under its fur


Some sip from the calabash of hatred

Others eat from the earthenware of deceit

While others plant the seeds of pain


Some kill the souls of the pious

Others steal from the banks of the poor

While others drink the blood of their dead ancestors


Some drain the sweat of the innocent

Some call for the lazy mentality

As some swear their fake innocence amidst the storms of chaos


What will happen when the gods finally wake?

Who will be left? Who will be taken?

Who will spared? Whose head will be on the chopper?


The winds which help in the sleeping dosage

Will connive with the storms to get us

And we’ll cave in because of their anger


We all know the anger of the gods have no ears,

No conscience and no sympathy

So let’s keep fanning hoping our hands will never be tired.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014