Archive for November, 2013


Posted: November 28, 2013 in Uncategorized
Do me a favor and pretend you are reading something really indulging

Do me a favor and pretend you are reading something really indulging

SO, you read I’M READY…BLOW ME AWAY and had no pun attached to it? Or I just made you see it that way? Whichever way, would you believe me if I said I have no idea what I’m writing, neither do I have any intentions of planning a perfect structure. What may follow may not make sense but do me a favor and pretend as if you are reading something really indulging.

For the first few minutes, Idris Elba was shot in the face and had to undergo and complete facial surgery. The writer describes the surgery process in vividly alarming details that get you wondering if Idris Elba will ever have that hot face with neatly shaped mustache and amazing eyes that can pierce your soul IF he’s to give you a stare; ladies, I don’t think he will look any hotter. I’d rather he change his name to something less hotter. Now, give me a sad face.. there we go… thank you.

Now comes the surprising part where we never thought Superman will ever kill a villain; he surely is the Man of Steel. Goodness! That movie is epic. Did you see the upper cut? If not, you didn’t watch the movie. What’s your mood now? Surprised? Smiling? Lost? At least there’s some reaction. I’m looking out for just the reactions.

This time, relax, take in some juice or water. Stretch your muscles or yawn a few seconds. Come back to the screen and keep reading. Interesting read, isn’t it? Now smile again. Not hard, just slightly mild enough, but also real enough to keep your eyes glittering.

You’ve been co-operative so far and it makes me feel awesome already. Thanks for smiling at this.

Oh one more thing… this is where you end reading by saying WOW!!


Posted: November 22, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Photo credit : PK Opoku _ EPIC

Photo credit : PK Opoku _ EPIC

Unseen scenes
Hidden behind a deceitful grin
A smile locked on the face
Behind is fused maze

A maze carefully woven
A maze carefully fused
To think it’s an illusion
Yet as real as its looks

Hidden behind the smokescreen
A plot to be trapped on their screen
Leaving you confused in this scene
All for a con fused for the gold

This piece was inspired by the work of PK OPOKU, a Ghanaian photographer
Photo Credit : PK Opoku [EPIC]


In Ghana, or probably everywhere, bicycle riding is an honorable phase of a child’s life. Unlike almost everyone else, I never learned how to ride a bicycle. I’m in my early 20s and still have no idea how to handle a bicycle. Yes, there’s a story behind it.

In my early years, I used to live somewhere around First-Light, Kaneshie in Accra. Crossing the road wasn’t a big deal for me until I was hit one day with a speeding bicycle. Why that changed me for a while whiles growing up, I had no idea. I wasn’t really into the TV telenovelas and dramatic love stories so even till date, I still wonder why being hit by a speeding bicycle should gives me a scare whenever I saw one or about crossing the streets.

I wouldn’t say crossing a 3-lane street is fun for me, especially when it looks like there’s no vehicle on the road, that’s more of a scare than a busy road.

In college, I remember mentioning to my study group members that I never learned how to ride a bicycle when the topic of childhood events came up. The look and expressions on their faces was such a turn off.

“You be dada-b waa”, one said.

“Chale, man hustle small oo”, I replied.

“But dada-b kwraa can ride a bike”, another teased.

In the end, we laughed it off… wait, honestly, we did not laugh it off. Why am I being so modest here? Truth is, they laughed at me and said my childhood was boring and wasn’t that much fun. I felt sad, naturally. But my consolation was the fact that they didn’t know about the other phases of my childhood. I never told them my mum chased me with a pestle one weekend, till I run into someone’s room, because I lied about a sensitive issue. I never mentioned I had to walk from Seven Great Princes Academy in Dansoman all the way to McCArthy Hill with my brother because we’d unknowingly spent the money after weekend class with friends. They didn’t know my dark childhood days and my darkest plots even when I was seemingly quiet innocent looking girl. And you don’t need to know either.

All said, I’m growing up to be a good woman for the sake of my future, family and all those directly and indirectly connected to me.

I will learn how to ride a bicycle. I’ll let you know when I do.

exam 1

So the lecturer conducts a 20 min 20 questions mid-semester exam. After sharing the exam papers, she says “START WORK” and about 80% of the class have their eyes fixed on their sheet and writing. What are they writing?

I remember someone asking for an extra paper, and it got me the more disturbed; was I the only confused student in the exam hall? Oh yeah, that Evening Student behind me was stunned too, and that tall girl I studied with a few minutes before the paper wasn’t writing as well; I don’t remember her name but she mentioned she lived in Lapaz. The next moment, I found myself looking at the lecturer, and she smiled, a seemingly evil smile.

Was I on track? Have I failed even before the exam ended?

After 20 minutes, “STOP WORK… NO MOVEMENTS”, but as if they didn’t hear, the murmuring was louder than intended. “Give me 2 minutes of your time, class”, she screamed in repetition so all will hear.

To listen or not to listen? Pfft!

“Did you read the instructions on the paper before answering the questions?”, she asks. My face lightened up as if the sun drew it’s energy from it.


“The instructions on the sheets were, and I read”, she takes one of the exam sheets and reads out “DO NOT ANSWER THE QUESTIONS BELOW… Have a nice day class. See you next week”.

That smile again, she wore it with such flawless pride and walked past my seat to exit the class.


It was 00:45. She knew it was. It was the first thing she saw
      when she finally opened her eyes and looked up at the clock.
      ‘Thank you Jesus’, she exclaimed with relief. She had to wake
      up; she knew she had to wake up.

      ‘What was all that about? God, explain things to me, please,
      I understood nothing’. The next moment, she was off her bed,
      walked eight steps, as usual she counted, to turn on the
      lights. She turned to pick up a book to read but… But she
      couldn’t even get to its reach. Astonishment gripped her feet
      to the floor, she almost couldn’t move.

      She looks into the mirror and sees her full image. ‘Jesus!!!’
      She is scared. She is shivering; as though she was looking
      straight at an image that didn’t belong to her. True, that
      isn’t her. Confused. How can one look into a mirror and see
      another but her image? 

      She straightens her neck now, closing her eyes slowly and
      hoping to see herself when she opened her eyes again. Now,
      eyes closed, hearts beating at an unusual pace desperately
      expectant of a positive result in the next moment. But she
      couldn’t see anything but pitch black… Sure, her eyes were

      Slowly and carefully, she opens her eyes, still fixed to the
      mirror. First second… Second… Fifth… Eighth…
      Twelfth… Fifteenth… Twentieth… Eyes still fixed,
      unuable to blink; maybe because she didn’t want to take her
      eyes off her image… Maybe she only wants to be double sure
      she was seeing what she was looking at… Sixtieth second…
      Sixty-second… A tear falls. If the tear was a result of her
      not blinking for a while or an emotional response to the
      horror staring back at her, she wasn’t particularly sure.
      Utterly confused. 

      She sighs. Felt an itch on her scalp but didn’t scratch it;
      she wasn’t sure what she felt about anything anymore, neither
      what she saw. Maybe after a few minutes, things will clear
      up. Besides, she just woke up… Or probably still dreaming.
      She waited for those minutes to pass.

      She lifts her eyes to the clock on the wall. It is 01:24. Now
      to the mirror… Appalling? An eyesore? A mistake? Wrong…
      Just wrong? Which was appropriate description, still she
      wasn’t sure. 

      But heart beats faster and tears drips down her throat. She
      swallows it hard. She wanted to know all this was as real as
      she was. It was real. It is real. As if it was a marathon,
      she takes off her tank and strips off the rest. She looks
      back in the mirror and it felt… Felt just wrong.

      She had wanted to scream out her anger and pain but she could
      only go as far as screaming out soundless breaths with all
      her might. Both hands stuck on her temples, she screamed
      again but then again, without sound. The scream was painful
      and hard… I could tell from the way her head and arms
      shook. I watched her scream at me in the mirror and I could
      only scream back, only that I was too loud she couldn’t hear.

      Still shivering, she runs her hands on her face, down her
      belly, and her curves… They weren’t there anymore. Her
      waist beads had sagged down so much that she could easily
      take them off by pushing them down effortlessly for her hips
      couldn’t support them anymore. She did. She took them off. I
      kept staring at her. I wanted to take my eyes off but I just
      couldn’t because she kept staring right at me. 

      Finally, I decided to speak but before I could, her legs had
      given up on her and she fell kneeling on her knees. I had to
      do same. She had so much control over me. But I still wanted
      to speak. She had to listen to me. But she wasn’t looking
      anymore. Her head stayed down. She was ashamed of me. If she
      couldn’t look, how could she have listened? She made me sad,
      because she was sad. This sadness felt stuffed up and almost
      unbearable. It was unbearable.

      It wasn’t my fault that she stopped eating regularly and even
      forgot to eat often these days. It wasn’t my fault that she
      spend most of the time in bed awake and thinking, often
      worrying. I’d wanted to warn her but she’d never given me
      attention in days. 

      I waited for her to lift her head but she never did. Her
      knees gave up too and I couldn’t see from that point. All I
      could hear were cries that sounded almost breathless. I
      wondered how she survived it. I wondered because I wasn’t
      there anymore. She never looked into the mirror so I just
      couldn’t tell. I faded away.

      But I am assured of one thing; she is a strong woman and she
      will be alright. She has a strong spirit and a sense for
      radical change when necessary. If you’d ask me, I’ll only say
      one cannot stand all his life. Even when one stands for
      hours, he gets tired and would want to, if not have to, rest
      a while. 

      Her fall was unexpected but I know she’ll rise up again. Next
      time she looks into the mirror, when she looks at me, she
      will smile and I’ll smile back proudly, because I believed in
      her. In the end, it will be alright. If it’s not alright,
      it’s not the end.