Oh Ghana!

Land of my birth

A land with gold and greens

The only land with a black star which shines

To lead the way

One powerful land fought for with blood

Where did we pass?

To get this lost?

Where did we go so wrong?

That we use baskets to fetch water?

We all saw when we travelled to rear guinea fowl

Wanting multiplication but ended with negatives

They all flew to the countries of few stomachs

Who blamed Burkina Faso for enticing them

We all know the many payments without efforts

Are we blind to see our coffers having huge holes

Which have mysterious visiting fingers only in the dark?

All we have now is confusion

Many starve

Many can’t breathe

Many commit suicide

Even health needs great wealth

Where are our eyes?

When did Ghanaians go so blind?

Our drivers may be sleeping

Their mates maybe too bitter to notice

Ghana! Ghana!

Let us all have a voice

That talk is cheap

And demand work

Work to get us to the right path

Before the dessert swallows us

Without the streams hearing our frightened cries.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



I think of now and before

I know not what is in store

I see not the work of law

I see crimes brought to the fore

And see children refuse their chore

I aim to know its prompt core

Living such life I abhor

For real justice, I swore

But my voice always mops floors

All my reasoning they ignore

And mostly show me the door

Now my heart is really sore

So much I can stand no more

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




The chicks scurry off

Trying to hide from the hawks

Their wings cannot fly

Their weak chirping are not heard

They see the shade of hawk frames


Their mothers weep loud

To their fathers who sigh loud

They try to set traps

The specific trap breaks fight

Whose must be the potent one?


They fight and break wings

Curse, cry, murder, rage and kill

Until they see right

Dust swells and they cry for help

When they have tools and manpower


Eagles are employed

Their trait of hunting not clear

They seriously work

It still persists, they realise

That the help hired was a reverse

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014













She stands in crepuscular

Knowing not her next


Would the next be day?

Would it be absolute night?

She stands scared waiting


One would be tempted

To think her light would stand out

Blinding grave darkness


But no, only she

Sees her light as the others

Grope for their mere path


‘A’ is standing tall

‘frica’ is having the fall

And none seems to call


Scary weather whips

Scary diseases leads ship

Beyond eye boarders


Scary captains ride

Armoured to fight the hot sea

With deserting thoughts


What will beauty do?

Africa needs a “sanctica”

A “sanctica” to revive.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014






In days of old

Ghana was rich in gold

So rich that she needed no gold to be sold

And stood in riches of timber, and untapped oil



In days of old

The body of Ghana knew no cold

Her people did her mould

Taking only what was needed and preserving the rest


But intruders walked in

Having stripped their own naked

They came with a peaceful hand

And hid the stealing manipulative one at their backs


A shake of the innocent

Landed into a trap of no return

Conquering the strong and selling beings

Eroding innocence and spoiling respect of kings


Until Ghana stood vulnerable

In front of visitors whose thoughts were not honourable

Looking on as her clothes were being torn apiece

Until her nakedness was nearly public


It dawned on one Nkrumah

Who joined a group to have their Ghana clothed

That the violent takes it by force

He took it in its sad form wanting to make it strong


Strength he had turned well

But greed for his throne turned his thoughts dictating

And so it was that all forgot

Of the woman who needed and still needs clothing

As they fought and are still fighting for her seeds


Ghana, Ghana

Beautiful woman Ghana

Beautiful tree of decency and boldness

You’ve had the patience so please wait awhile

Just as you were taken from strangers

One will come and clothe you well

Ignoring his own hunger and gain

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


Happy man standing at mountain top

Standing on a mountain top

I have the eyes to sadly pop

The ills which never seem to stop

In the full glare of the big cop


He is a big moral flop

Who has from his sanity gladly hop

He is being awarded a disgusting crop

To say no word to make them stop


Righteous ones shop

For the one to stop

The heinous weeds with much crop

But all have been bought by the crop


The weaver above must be awfully sad

Watching things which makes Him mad

How did things get this bad?

There is no difference between a lad and a dad


Help me fly

From this mountain of disgust

Try to help me fly

From this chaos of mistrust

So this view passes me by.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014



I can tell you pride has been sold

For power in my home 

For the first man status, a sheep clothe was worn.

To be the keeper of all,

A known affluence was paraded


But a lion could never stay in a sheep clothe forever

It tore free immediately it landed on the stool

As has always been the case

Only to put a tangled net on his past audience

A net which is never loosened until another era rears its head

Then a much more sheepy clothe will be acquired


If only you know what we are going through

You’ll pity my home which feels like just a house

If only the god of power was fair

These lions will be struck dead in their  sheep clothes

To free my land.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014



I hear the hushes of the bushes

And the marshes of the brushes


I hear the soreness of darkness

And fleeing plans of the fireflies


I hear the lifting mats of the bats

And weaving spectacles of some tentacles


Even the headless carries a headdress

A great storm is about to storm the land


Its mouth to come with openness and fierceness

None will be spared, I have been told


Why? The gatekeeper has failed to be a keeper

And has been bribed by the storm


Lord of the heaven, lord of the storm

Cries his banishment of the keeper


And has forsaken the eatables of the storm

For enticing the keeper with expensive possessions


Making him a coveter so much so he opened

Up to a bribe that’ll consume him, my dear, pack up or perish.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.




I take a stance

And look from a distance


Chickens like famished children

Wailing in anger

Hens like desperate mothers

Crying in anguish

Cocks like men with bruised egos

Sitting with capped jaws

As the Hawk sits comfortably on his throne


He, the hawk comes down

And takes what he needs to fill his belly

Then climbs up to watch the desperate circus

Any beak which chirps in defiance,

Is made an evening meal

So none thinks to squeal

Fingers on beaks


Funny, the eagle watches

Waiting to devour the hawk and take over

But aims to do it tactfully

So as to get a non scattered empire

There are other animals too aiming

but none has a shot

Because the fowls have made it so.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014


They hold it

They hold it in their thumbs

They hold it in pieces

A great law by whomever

So we will not be cheated

But a handful of people come together

And pat the backs of few,

Grease the palms of some,

Stroke the egos of some,

And buy the thought of others with empty promises


These are people who are in a car they want flying,

A car they can’t afford crashing,

The only car surrounded by trekkers,

Who do they turn to when fixers are far away?

They sell their car anyway cheaply to crap dealers

When they are in it

Then they complain of heat,

They complain of the receding speed,

They complain of the unknown noise,

They complain of the fitters hired,

They complain of everything when they should have

Foreseen the calamity that forced ancestral humans

To break the thumb powers into pieces

Sharing them to every household for safe keeping.

Keep mute!

It is your car; it is also his car

You all sold it to those who are taking parts for themselves

To build grinding mills

Deal with it.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.

(Picture taken from askelvins)



When the clouds are mating

The winds throw dust into the eyes of interested parties

Then even highly inquisitive eyes will shut

Until each body in the mating posture cools

Minds are so wonderful,

That though they know something sinister is ongoing,

They bury them deep and live in the day

Moving on with new trends

Forgetting about the mating whose consequences

Will rise like an untamed lion

To devour them when they least expect.

When are we going to wish to be blinded

By the wind’s propaganda than close our eyes to our own fall?

It wouldn’t be bad buying expensive mind goggles

To watch this mating,

To try and separate them before they beget chaos.



All the animals wailing and cursing in the jungle 

At their chosen master



When like bathed pigs

They went for the same dirt to soil their own clothes.



They are the pigs and he is the lion

Roaring to tame as they squeak to wail


You watch,

They may like sheep hail and choose

Him again when time gives them the chance



I am babbling like a mouth out of the lot

When I stand in their midst.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014




Like humans taming cubs of the wild

We have been caged by our minds so mild

we sit in the blessings of our wealth and beg

When salt and cocoa

Bauxite, diamond and gold are but a few of our wealth

Whose fault is it that we have eyes but cannot see?

Whose fault is it that we see not our own money?

Whose fault is it that our money is our sand?

Whose fault is it that we mine not what is ours?

We use our little water to bath 

And always end up in the mud like naughty pigs

Those with good fire we help to extinct

We get all clues but partake in our own fall

A bomb of enlightenment is all we need

To blow our brains and open our eyes.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014. 



The government is bad

The government is bad

That’s enough said and enough heard

If you’ll close your mouth and open your thoughts

You’ll get to know the root of all


Could it be the fault of you and I?

Who fill our pockets

And cast our votes?

To choose the one to drain our all?

And cause our thirst and cause our famine?


Could it be the fault of the head farmer?

Who greases his pocket and shuts his mouth?

When roads are bad and his people take less

For toil and tears

And heartaches and death


Could it be the fault of the head fishermen

Who preach money words and cover the truth?

To get many pockets to drain into their safe coffers

To purchase happiness and materials for their comfy comfort

And stay in earthly heaven against their doctrines?


Could it be the fault of the learned you?

Whose great anthem is:

‘All are dumb’?

Don’t you sit on the fence and act like an ostrich

Telling tales of doom and giving no hoot?


Could it be the fault of you the civic?

Who wakes at ten

And works at twelve?

When you must be at your duty post at six o’clock

Only to close at an early two?


Or is it the fault of you the healer

Who kills potentials

And saves the dusted

To grease your palm

And have it all?


It could be you

It could be me

It could be he who steers the wheel

But if the elector gave no mandate

His seat will not be his to sit.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



I am left alone

In this fence of sharks

But when I say it

Many think I am not well in the up


My parents travel first to the land of the spirit

Left me here with four sets of twins 

And just three cowries

To breath and eat


We have no food 

We have no shelter

We’ve bought no water

Just our little covers, so to the village we go.



Ataa Panyin 1 has to go to school

In the school of our taxes

The overseer asks for ten cowries

When I have just three turned one


I go to another tax school 

And they ask for ten

Hope is lost, stop the school

Stay at home and let us weed


I go to my father’s farm

And the head wants a fee

How much?

He says 100 cowries


I call for the elders

They promise to help

But they asked for their palms to be greased

How much? They say 10 each, when they are eight


I go to the chief’s palace

To seek for help

I’m asked for schnapps before his face is unveiled

How much? I am told 50 cowries


I throw the idea through the naught window

And pests on my aunt who never fails to say

Give me a cowrie, pay some of the bill

Do you think it is easy? The life of feeding mouths?


I try to sell smiles

So I go a long mile

To avoid detection

And save my face


But seller of selves

Ask for their cut

Even before I start

And it is 20 cowries, I ran


I go to other farms to look for firewood

i get a bunch and tie only to be caught

I cry tears of blood but end up in the palace

I’m asked to pay a fine which gets me laughing


They shout in annoyance

They shout my disrespect

They warn to have me captured

But I still laugh, they get concerned and ask me why, 


And all I can say is:


I am left alone

In this fence of sharks

But when I say it

Many think I am not well in the up


Turn to the left

Turn to the right

All they ask for

Is just the worldly cowrie


Beat me if you want

Kill me if you want

Make sure you’re satisfied

But know cowries grow not on trees.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



Corruption wears the platinum and golden crowns

And sits on thrones even royals are forbidden to sit

In many parts of the world

Wearing and changing frequently by day many expensive apparels

Being driven in the most expensive cars

With many servants licking his feet

In the hopes of many favours.

Corruption is a fierce regime that every one fears

No one wants to be on his bad side

Just a frown from him and you are doomed for life

The only hope of conquering His Excellency Corruption is also waning

The Saints nation is gradually being taken over by corruption

Very soon, its reign will be complete

And all of us will have to bow our heads even when he coughs

Very soon, none of us will have the power to own anything

Because he will own it all

Very soon, none of us will eat any food without consulting first with him

Very soon, very, very soon,

We will all be slaves of the most dreaded greedy monster master.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.




The great hunter goes to the forest

Where the many live game rest

At the brink of dawn

As always, this time, the game is on

But no, the only game sleeping comfortably today

Is the “santrofie anoma”

He searches and searches and searches

But nothing is seen, nothing is heard except the “santrofie” bird

Should he kill it and take a curse home

Or leave it to let the sumptuous fatty meat go?

He thinks of the many mouths with huge stomachs to fill

He thinks of the eyes of his wife seeing an empty hand

He thinks of the sneers of neighbours

And thoughts of incompetency walking in the minds of others

And like an old impatient dog,

Looks at the “santrofie anoma”

He aims to shoot and drag the last animal home

After all, he has the gun.

Just when he lifts the gun

Many eyes are seen

Eyes which develop heads with every proper look

Heads which develop bodies with every proper look

Bodies which develop hatred with every proper look

It then comes back to him; the voice of his father;

A hunter hunts with good judgement

A hunter earns his keep rightly

A good hunter does not kill what it has no need for

And a good hunter understands time”

Just when he feels sorry, he feels a pain here

He feels a pain there

And so it is that the hunter became the game.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


Tagging along the rustic path

I see an ending full of gloom

It is more like a tricky math

That requires minds to fully zoom


I see the maker crooking the path

Which tells of a danger loom

I wish I had many a strong lath

To support the path to make more room


But all brains love the path

And all eyes see no doom

Who am I to cause a fuss

This tinny winny voiceless lad.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.



Give me a calabash of “nsafufuo”

And let me pour my story like “abufushiw nsuo”

Thank you

I come from far

I have come from a far, far land

Where the lions are the hyenas

Where the cats are the mice

Where the hunters are the dogs

Where all owners are servants

Yes, I come from very far

Where foods are eaten in private

Without eyes watching

Without other mouths salivating

Without other hands, like huge sticks, fighting

To share

And of course, the weak ones I see here

Were the ones eating while the strong ones saw not

Or saw but pretended not to see

All decisions were made by the weaklings

And the strong ones here, had no say

I have come from far

I have come from very far

Seeing as our weak people are the strong here

Seeing as your weak people are the owners here

I have really come from far

Now, let me sip my “nsafufuo”

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


Yἐde nam ἐna eyi nam

Nanso yἐ nsuomu nam nyinaa na akwabenane ayi ἐἐwe yi

Yἐ bἐ yἐ dἐn na yatumi akↄ yi nam?

Sika kↄkↄↄ yi nyinaa hyἐ ἐnam yi anum

ἐna akwabenane a wↄn abἐ agasigasii

ἐwe nam a yἐdirekoyi nam no

Yἐ bἐ yἐ dἐn na yakↄso?

ↄman yi awerἐwerἐ sika de agu sikagwa

Sika a efiri akuafoↄ hu

Sika a efiri akyerἐkyerἐfoↄ hu

Sika a efiri ahiafoↄ hu

Yawerἐ a ama wↄn hu ἐpram mogya

Na yasuma wo sἐ kↄ na fakↄ yἐ adwuma a

Na moretwe kↄ gu mu fie

Modebi ἐreyἐ mpa

Na mootobigu

ↄman yi na ἐrebↄ yi

Sἐ yἐ nsuo yi nyinna we a

Emu nam nkituwa yi, yἐbἐyἐdἐn nayatukwan akↄ pἐ nsuo a emu dwo?

ↄman yi a na yἐ wↄ

ↄman yi yἐ wo de

ↄman yi yἐme de

Enti dwene adwene pa ma wo man

Na menso mendwene adwene pa

Na ↄman yi bἐyἐ yie a, na efiri me ne wo.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014



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

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

Seeing that I looked bewilded, he added:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2/06/2014.


Let’s get out of this uncomfortable stream

Just let’s yell and scream

As fowls scream when fleeing danger

Let’s get out of this dangerous manger

Into a neat peaceful manger

Of the colourless oasis

This filthy muddy poisoned gutter water will not do

We have paid so much and so deserve much more

We have paid too much to be pushed by those we fed and are still feeding

Into a box of death

By suffocating and killing us slowly through our own living water

We are different fishes in this same corrupted deep sea

Though we aim for the flesh of the other

Let’s hold our bloody thirst for each other

And as ants form their strength in times of strain

Hold hands as we take huge difficult steps from this water turned poison

On the vehicle of togetherness

To reach the rich ocean devoid of even dirt

We can part ways then after succeeding to do away with pigs trusted and mandated

To till the sea but ended up turning it into a stinky muddy habitat filled with mono gas

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



I am the lion who sits on the throne

I am the lion who can have or lose it all and end up without even a bone

That is why I have the monkeys

Who must do all the dirty works that will give me riches’ key


I am the lion who sits on the throne

I walk with the power you gave not alone

That is why I can cover my monkeys

Once they can bring me all the riches’ key


I will cover them as long as I sit on this throne

All they have to do is their names in the mud don

As they search fruitfully for the riches’ key

My monkeys


I may share my kingdom of the rich with them when I sit on that throne

They may even have to be only in name stone’

But all they have to do is to compile those golden locked keys

And I will make humans see them as their peers and not as monkeys.


What can you do or say since you pushed me to your throne?

Do you want to throw the stone?

Go ahead, I am watching with keen interest to make a donkey

Out of you who has declined to be my monkey.

            Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


If you are a mason and dreams of marrying a judge

Without bettering yourself first

And all you do is to spend your fortune on her making her your honour badge

When she becomes the judge and decides not to your side budge

Don’t sigh and never say why?

Caveat emptor!



If yours is to close your eyes and buy

When you have some dollars as compared to your static pennies

Then when you reach your edifice and see the junk

Don’t say, only me why?

And don’t sigh

Caveat emptor!


If yours is to support the unscrupulous

Because of your selfishness

And you end up throwing in all your finances knowing it is ridiculous

Never say, only me why?

And don’t sigh

Caveat emptor!


If all you want is to travel abroad

Because you cannot stand being on your own shore

And you give all you own for a fiddle to hoard

Never say, only me why?

And don’t sigh

Caveat emptor!



If all you seek is the power of fame

Though you know your time is not rife

And you throw all you own around just to opposition tame

And you lose the game

Don’t sigh and never say why?

Caveat emptor!

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



He stands unclothed

But feels very confident and clothed

In a judgeless public

Who his many booty dust lick


He hits his chest

And orders at his comfy quest

With means of the ‘seeful’ but mute

Shooting empty glances of talk and I’ll shoot


The irony is on you

The irony is on me

The irony is on he who thinks only for himself

And not for his generation


A time will come

When everything in those coffers will be gone

And hands that fight to reach in there

Will come out disillusioned


Then, only then, will we know

The essence of minding our mouths

Where our very own is at stake.

I hope that day comes and leaves us whole.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


Please cover me with the cloth,

Cover me with the cloth that will make me invisible to disdain

Invisible to pain,

Invisble to faces of hypocrisy plain,

Invisible to the likes of Cain

Invisible to those who love feign

Invisible to those who insane thoughts daily gain,

Invisible to those who abuse rain

Invisible to those who good names stain,

Invisible to works which end in vain

Until the world becomes sane

And bothersome botherings wane.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.


It is uncontaminated and heavenly around

It is sparkling and golden to have been found

Wow! The beautiful oceans, rivers and beaches lie so serene and welcoming

That the last straggler of non-humans might have been here thousands of years ago

Wait, even the bushes are as clean as the morning dew

To see defecation in the litter, you’ll have to pay for manure, I guess

There are no mafias leading this gang of lovers

No soul aims to have a confrontation with the other

Everyone loves his or hers and belongings

None will take from none and each gives freely

So beauty abounds

Everyone is a clown

So laughter abounds

The only disturbing sounds

Are the angelic voices of true worshipers without mischief

And everyone regards the other as a grand chief

The only known thieves

Are the children playing hide and seek

Oh, how can a place like this exist?

The fun of it, oh, here comes Adwoa with her hands widely opened

“Agyei!” Who hit me like this?”

Oh Adwoa, what is it?

“Wake up, someone just killed Adane, the police are all over the place”

This is not the place I was, as I stand watching,

All that is in the opposite in reality,

No wonder I doubted the veracity of the surrealism in my wonderland.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.



“We sing along

The damned doomy song

We’ve suffered for long

Trying to belong


We cry for our souls

Trying to identify the mole

And tie him to the pole

Under the hot coal


Living for nothing is naught

Our happiness in life has been bought

As we try to find a way not to be sought

Out of the millions who fear to be caught


We do this for sustenance

We do this for survival

Bad or worse, accommodate us

As big flies must be caught before small ones”


Stop the defensiveness

Try positive pro-activeness

Sing not of doom

Fight for success’ bloom

Bigger flies covereth up

Small flies disturbs by flaunting around

So try and come out of that obscured nest

And be an incorruptible big fly.

              Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014. 





He sits under the golden tree

On the biggest of the silver stools

Breathing wealth and sending free

The money fools


He walks only under the golden umbrella

Held by the stoogy jesters

Spewing words that even he doesn’t believe but people deem filla

He promises with such gestures


Manly man of youthful blood

Who has strength but is blind

Pointing sticks where needles thread

And pushing hard, where walls are caked


The people cry

And he shouts his ‘try’

But stands apace

And run a race


Hunger seeps

As his worthy lions graze citizens heads

His blindness peeps

Only the ingratitude of his subjects


Life is foul

Get up, sit up,

Take out your blindfold

And lead the way.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.




I am bamboozled

Strapped in visions of the unfathomable

Cajoled by frightened hummings of the wind

Clothed by awareness of magnifying nakedness of grave hoodwinking

Of not only myself but the world


I am angry

Angry by the tone of my voice

Exhausted and fatigued by the stench of unscrupulous stinking teeth

In the mouth of the world

Yet it seems I can do nothing

But hypocritically watch the stray chickens dance in the plates of the crowd of foxes


Where is liberty?

Where are truth and honesty?

Where is discipline?

Where is conscience?

Which bastard of spirit changes the innocent with power?

Which bastard Soils seats of freedom by entrenching corruption and beautifying embezzlement?

This throne of graceless grace

This throne of soft weakness

This throne of the executioners

Needs deliverance from God

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.


When Lord Acton; a British historian (1834-1902) wrote “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.” He was right, he was absolutely right but he did not live to see this era in Africa where thoughts of power corrupt even before the power is served.

I was appalled when children in the school I teach started vying for various positions in the school. Students who were normally aggressive became calm, students who dressed haphazardly started looking presentable, students who kept to themselves started opening up to their peers, and students who never thought of their tenses started befriending English teachers and so on.

Then days to the elections, students started buying many things for their fellow students in exchange for their votes. This reminded me of the saying that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. I thought of it and realized that even the thoughts of gaining power stirs corruption. This is because people in the political arena no matter how pious they are, in order to win elections do many unpleasant things to gain the attention and votes of the electorate.

Let’s take the many gifts that flow around especially in Africa where people see election time as a time for reaping whatever benefit there is. I remember some people in my area saying

 “Ei, I should vote for someone who will not grease my palms? When many people are giving motors, bicycles, cloths and money for people to vote for them, you are here with your bare hands asking for votes”

I was not surprised. I just listened as they spewed all their sympathetic ignorance about the power they held. This was because the attempt to explain to them as to what was at stake when choosing a leader would have been tantamount to being on the side of another party. If care is not taken, you would be lynched when around very passionate people whose palms have been greased. And I didn’t want to be a roasted chicken to be served at the after party elections (Even that was a form of corruption on my part but in my defense, there is a local saying that a wise man in the midst of fools is considered the fool).

During the 2012 elections, we saw many cars flying around from candidates to the houses of some chiefs. The ‘politrickcians’ claimed some chiefs had no cars and that they were just being benevolent by giving them expensive cars as gifts. If this is not corruption and emotional blackmail aiming at the electorates’ votes, then what could it be? We heard it all from different manifestoes as to how well politicians had planned to save our country from hardships. Personally, when they had the presidential debate, the only candidate who spoke like he knew what he was about was the candidate who many praised but said:

    “Too bad he is in that party. No matter how many years he contends he will never win because of the party”

So the people had spoken and he knew he was a lost cause. Then there were the many azonto dances flying around by some of the candidates, many showing they were on the side of the electorates by painting so many good pictures from the mouth of our stars, children, the elderly, their friends and family. We saw it all. I will not be surprised if that together with the greasing influenced the election results. As for me I do not want to dabble in the rumours that the elections were rigged.

Africans and for that matter Ghanaians will never learn sense until the end. All these hardships stems from the very beginning when the gifts were flying around. No politician will want to enter into politics and be at a loss. So whatever they spent during the elections, they must be able to get it in many folds. Why do you think many losers protested the outcome of the elections? It was not because of the loss of power alone, but the financial loss.

Until we are able to nudge the giving of gifts for our mandate in the bud, the whole continent will continue to suffer until Thy Kingdom Come, because that is where thoughts of corruptive power starts and once that power gets served on a very hot plate, they get to show us where the power lies.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.