The Township That Is My City

Small and cramped. Nestled in the plains that have become farcical industry and stagnant development. Houses and factories, shops and public latrines all intertwined in a regrettable mix sprawling for miles and miles... or kilometers if you will.

Organised and disorderly. Haphazardly scattered on even and slanted surfaces; on hills and in valleys, securely nestled on vast plains and annually sinking in secluded swamps. No space too small, no area to cramped.

Home is where it can be put up before the Assembly is aware in the township that is my city.

My Blogging

It cannot be forced because if I try, I will get stuck.

It never will finish, but it can run dry.

It is a passion, but is hardly considered.

It is life, but is not lived.

Its a wife, no longer a girlfriend.

Its an investment, more than something to 'try'.

Its exercise, but I don't move at all.

Its pride shared with complete strangers.

Its young and its old but its always a alive.

Its considered, its plotted, its rendered...its mine.

Tight Fit!

I have no issues with lycra/spandex and all that stretchy stuff.

I have no problems with tight, hugging and fitting tops.

I have no qualms with women with big bellies.

But a combination of the two to me is worrying.

But Noooooo! - 'If you got it, flaunt it', has been taken to heart.

No honey bunch, your auditioning for the wrong part.

Like Victoria keep your secret....... if you can.

...and stop walking around like a one-man-band!

Loss!

Ever lost something?

Not a key ring, or a teddy bear. I mean something really important. Something that is essential, something which if not found will dull your already tarnished shine in the eyes of the owner. I have lost something, something of importance , something that is wanted, something that is needed.

How do I feel about it?

My head is numb, my fingers hurt, my head is pounding. My chest is heavy. Not the heavy that sadness or apprehension brings, but heavy, like a three year old has been sitting on it for an hour or two. I am conscious of my heart as it burns with a dull burning sensation. The Harmattan has not permitted me to sweat profusely. I'm literally sick to my stomach and claustrophobic. My skin has become three sizes smaller, I'm choking.

What will I do?

I have lost something. I shall retrace my steps in the fervent hope that my cloud does have a silver lining, in the hope that the sun will come out tomorrow and the silver lining of my cloud shall, with the aid of the sun, shine a brilliant burning light that shall melt the ice that has engulfed my confidence.

If I don't find it; then what?

I don't know.....your guess is as good as mine.

My Blogging

It cannot be forced because if I try, I will get stuck.

It never will finish, but it can run dry.

It is a passion, but is hardly considered.

It is life, but is not lived.

Its a wife, no longer a girlfriend.

Its an investment, more than something to 'try'.

Its exercise, but I don't move at all.

Its pride shared with complete strangers.

Its young and its old but its always a alive.

Its considered, its plotted, its rendered...its mine.

...?

I sit and I think. I think long and hard about what I should share today but nothing comes to mind. A void, a black hole of emptiness exists in the fertile garden which is my mind, sucking every suggestive thought down the throat of inadequacy. Sucking it down into the reservoir which is my cooking pot of thought.

My ladle of dreams, my dipstick of memories, my whisk of experience continue to stir and churn the froth which forms my being seeking to find satisfaction for my creative tongue, but alas, it tastes not that which wets the pallet of ingenuity.

But I fear not for even though the what I serve today is cold and tasteless there is still food on my expressive table.

New Year? Bah Humbug!

So we enter a new year, expectations abound
The day broke and 'fresh' people peered around

Full of hope and vibrant glee
Smiling faces anxious to see

Indeed they should stare, indeed they should gape
For the new year shall turn a prune into a grape!

It shall turn charcoal to wood and drive crime from your hood!
Even Harry Potter says the new year is good

It shall raise its hands and say aloud
Let world peace in every corner be found!

You stand, however in unfortunate expectation
Suffering from a severe case of new year mental masturbation

Believing to the end that all shall be well
Believing that new year shall cast that 'all shall be well' spell

The very same one that 2010 cast
Oh really? Today, you say thats all in the past

The truth be told, the truth is here
There should be no expectations for the new year

For what was Saturday is now Sunday
You still shall wake up and go to work on a Monday

Your bills will still come and you shall still pay
And you still will be broke a week from payday

Your life last year, that life remains
Life goes; on very little has changed

we've got BIGGER problems

Permit me one minute to leave the kitchen floor
Things are brewing, controversy galore!

In Ghana my motherland almost all is political
Of most of the issues, though silent, I still remain critical

Today for me is not such an occasion
Today I shall speak on religious political invasion

A man of God steps into the light
To engage himself in a political fight

A fight in which he has no business
Now has others queuing to bear witness

Their declaration of God's political intention
Has my brow furrowed in consternation

Me Against the World

Suggestive silence. The bane my of existence:
To look but never find. To call but never be answered.
To wonder with no destination. To ponder with no idea.

I cover my eyes from the blinding sun and I stare as far as my eyes can see:
A vast horizon. Possibilities of emptiness.
Promise of nothing. Adventure into a void.

To travel I muster courage and take that very first step:
Forward towards the past. Advancing to the back.
Pacing to regression. Heading for retreat.

I stop to think of my journey thus far, an endeavor without end:
Lost in discovery. Forgotten in remembrance.
Ignored in recognition. Grieving in happiness.

The Average Ghanaian

Who, do you consider to be an average Ghanaian?



A man with a steady job earning between 1,000 and 1,500 Ghana Cedis a month?

A man with a car which he drives on the regular?

A man who shares a two bedroom flat with a friend so that he may defray cost and save more?

A man who eats out regularly at between 6-8 Ghana Cedis a plate?

A man who if he so chooses travels internationally once a year?



or



A man with a part-time job earning between 150-400 Ghana Cedis a month?

A man who takes the occasional taxi but moves primarily on tro-tros (commuters)?

A man who rents a small a single room which he shares with his wife and child?

A man who always eats at home or from the 'corner caterer' for less that 2 Ghana Cedis a day?

A man who has seen neither the inside of a plane nor the 'Welcome To...' arc of a neighbouring country?



or



A man who does odd jobs here and there for what ever is given to him?

A man who takes the occasional trotro but primarily walks to his destinations?

A man who has a kiosk or rents a mat when the sun turns in?

A man who survives on sporadic meals?

A man who thinks of travel only as a means to take him back to the bosom of his village?



....or is there yet another man who forms the benchmark of the average Ghanaian?