…But Others!

You think you are alright because you’ve been that church boy, church girl, all your life and never backslidden out of the church.
You never played the prodigal son; never felt the need to ask God for a little ‘freedom with provision’ to satisfy your curiosity and later come to the realisation of who you really are and where you ought to be.
Yeah, you are alright.

You’ve never gotten drunk because you’ve never been in an environment where you’ve been indirectly influenced to. Perhaps you’ve never tasted the sweetness of some of the hard liquor.
So yeah, you are alright.

You’ve never stolen money because you haven’t been in the position to.
You’re alright like that.

You’ve never fornicated because a charming and irresistible man whom you can never say no to hasn’t approached you yet… he’s not touched you at certain places in certain ways yet.
So yeah! You are alright.

But woe unto you if you point a finger at that prodigal son who’s returned to his father’s house.
Woe unto you if you if you talk behind his back and judge him.
Woe unto you if you call him foolish, because for all we know, you might never return if you were in his shoes and strayed your path.
Perhaps, you would’ve returned but a week late, when your patient loving father who was awaiting your return is a week late.

There, you will know your fate lies with your elder brother; the one who’d always been there with, and for your father.

You cannot be comfortable where you are, because you can still be a church boy, a church girl, yet backslide, in the church, with your fellow saints. Be careful. Just be careful.

He who stands, stands because he is not falling.
He who is standing, remains standing because he can achieve more standing as compared to falling and remaining there.
Even toddlers… even toddlers who haven’t experienced life’s gloom yet, know that when they stand and fall, they have to stand again.

You can never be comfortable. But if you are, if you feel you are alright, think of OTHERS.

The Brows Are Not Twins, They Are Sisters! Opal Makeup Class With Special Appearance By Ashiakie Momo

I’m lousy with makeup, at least not until this past weekend at Opal Makeup Class. I entered with virtually no makeup gadgets yet left feeling like a pro. Truth is, this class was informative.

Makeup Test Shots By Opal Makeup, Photographed By Steve Ababio

On the first day we met, I knew I wanted her to be more than just the MUA to me. I wanted her to be my friend, such a sweet spirited woman.

FLOAT – Photographed By Bob Pixel & Steve Ababio

Red is everything bold; to be clothed in a red gown is twice that feel.

To Save A Life

It’s 04:23 and I’m thinking, if I had the chance to save your life before you lost it, I will. I’m thinking about you.

The sharp piercings of pain prickles my senses to the core when you think yourself worthless. My heart practically breaks every moment you feel you were never made for this. You were.

You see, I have problems too. The elephant is failure-prone to the ant… yeah! We’re never safe until we feel we are. But you are; you are safe.

I know this because I believe in you. Wait… you thought no one did? [Sigh!]

Did you come unto this earth by freewill? Why would you choose to exit out how you didn’t come? Don’t do that.

You are valuable, your being, I need you. I need you to read this to inspire me… inspire another. I need you to comment on this and tell me you get it, so I know I’m valuable too, only because you are. That’s your value to me now.

If you’d passed me a note telling me you’d want to kill yourself, end it all, I’ll tear the same page of my book, write same, then pass you a note too. Let’s see how that works out for both of us.

You’ve no idea how valuable a treasure you are.

Photography, Photoshop, Retouching – Phloshop LLC Photoshop Workshop

Certain photographers are of the view that, photographs like portraits that contain artistic and fine makeup do not necessarily require retouching. Some are also of the view that, retouching enhances the beauty of certain portraits and photographs in general.

There are artists and photographers who are particularly skilled in this expertise; photoshop and retouching. Ghanaian photographer and retoucher Joseph Carlyle Amoateng of Phloshop LLC brings to you a 1-day photography and photoshop workshop this September, captioned “PHOTOGRAPHY AND PHOTOSHOP WORKSHOP: The beginner’s guide to Retouching“.

Here is a look at the press release;

 It doesn’t matter how great a photographer you are, nearly every photograph can benefit from retouching, whether it’s to correct colour problems or make major changes to the subject or background.

Phloshop LLC is organizing a photography and retouching workshop for beginners and professionals. This workshop is a day’s immersion into Photography and Retouching designed specifically for photographers who are interested in learning the basics of lighting and executing beauty photo retouch for both commercial assignments or personal projects. As well as how to take their own photography to the next level with professional retouching techniques.

Photographers and designers will benefit from learning systematic professional routines taught in this workshop. You’ll also be challenged to identify retouching mistakes or faults, tackle makeup problems and dozens of photoshop correction features to help turn average portraits into stunners.

DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS WORKSHOP OR READY TO ENROLL?

•  Contact +233 268780780 (whatsapp only)
•  +233 207385899 (voice calls only)
•  Email: Phloshop.llc@gmail.com
•  Connect with Phloshop on Instagram @phloshop

NB: Date to be communicated soon.

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  Connect With Phloshop Instagram HERE!

• Connect with Phloshop on Facebook HERE!
  

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Tales Of An Accra Taxi Driver (III) – The Night Rider

They call me ‘Night Rider’ because I work at night and I’m not afraid of anything! Sister, if I tell you the things I’ve seen and battled whiles driving at night, you will marvel. But I am not afraid of anything… Odeshi! Uhuh… that’s me, Night Rider.

Growing up, I watched African movies that involved drivers stumbling upon atrocious encounters with armed robbers and ghosts. Talk of superstition, it’s more alive than it was before. Whoever told you superstition is fading as a result of Western cultures, deceived you. I’d rather say it looks refined now.

Night Rider refused to tell me his actual name, but his nickname is cool enough, isn’t it?

As his name, he’s had quite unspeakable encounters, but he shared a few with me in the Twi language, of which I translated to English.

My friends praise me for my courageous acts, that’s how the name Night Rider got stuck on their tongues. It is no bragging matter, it is just who I am. I picked up one doctor from Kasoa to Teshie Tsui-Bleo one night. On our way, he started talking gibberish, so I asked him if he was okay, but he only told me to keep driving. About 10min later, he started speaking Ga, I stayed at La for over 15-years so I understand Ga quite well; he kept repeating these lines, “God, please forgive me, I can never give my mother to them… I can never give my mother to them… God please forgive me, I can never give my mother to them… I can never give my mother to them. She’d sacrificed too much, I can never give my mother to them”

All I could think of was ‘this man had gone in for Sakawa (blood money)’. I asked him again if he’s alright, and he told me he was going to tell his wife everything that night, but then could ‘never give his mother to them’. When I asked who he was referring to, he said, ‘I deserve to die, not my mother. But I am her only son, O! What have I done?! It was just once, they told me it was just once. O! What have I done?!’ So I asked him to confide in me since I was just a driver whom he’ll hardly see anyway. Just when he started to talk, he begun to cough. Sister, he coughed so hard we couldn’t calm it down. Hmph!  I parked to get some water from the nearest store, but anytime he drank some, he’d throw up with traces of blood. That was when I stopped to rush him home.

Long story short, his friend introduced him to a ‘Lodge’ when life hit him hard. He needed the money so he said, and had to ‘pay the price’ but this. This peculiar price demanded him to sacrifice his mother to reverse his impotence; same thing they took away from him on the first day. He left some documents with me and requested that I visited his house the day after to deliver them to his wife so they believe his story. The next day, I went there as agreed, and guess what, he was gone… dead!

Hmm…

A few days ago, at about 2am, I picked up a young woman who’s dressed like a prostitute, around Cantonments. She was a prostitute, actually. How did I know? She was on a call and I happen to eavesdrop. She talked about how smelly her client was and how she’d wasted her time pleasuring a pot-bellied man with a teeny-weeny thingy who passed out into sleep right after he’d ejaculated. She complained of how he’d drool and snore, and how she hated to deal with such uncertainties every weekend, but the money was good.

You cannot judge a book by its cover, they say, but you can by its prologue, obviously. Whatever the case, you’d have to look further than what you see, that is when you actually see.

For a man who saves lives everyday yet dying by the day, who would have thought he was killing aside saving? For the woman who’s selling her body, you’d never know her story till you ask. She wouldn’t be complaining if she loved her job, or would she?

We are all one,  so it makes no sense to point fingers and judge. Encourage someone when you can, and help if you can. My dear, what’s your name?

Akwele.

Ei! A true Ga woman. I like your hair. Natural lady eh? Nice. I’ll give you my number; call me anytime you need a taxi at night. Night Rider, don’t forget the name.

Who would?

 

 

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  Photography: Gerard Nartey

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Grey Greg

Grey eyes are uncommon among Ghanaians, so it’s fair to admire and celebrate one with it, especially when he’s got gifted hands and a remarkable self. Meet Greg, the younger brother of my friend, Gerard.

Social media has made it easier for an individual to feel special on their birthday; different write ups even by ghost friends on our walls, friends changing their Whatsapp DPs to our pictures, uploading photos on Instagram, Banks and Telecommunications Networks wishing us Happy Birthday via SMS… the physical celebration can get boring at times, but thanks to social media, we don’t complain, or do we?

Greg is nice, simply nice. The first time we met, we easily bonded. He understood the puns and sarcasm, he teasingly laughed at the grammatical errors and petty ignorance, we had fun, we always do, just like with his Gerard. I guess blood is thicker after all.

I admire the bond they share as brothers, Gerard and Greg. They’re like an unstoppable force when together, and I feel like the intruder in their midst… well, more often than not. On the average, a brother’s love deteriorates in time, because they each grow to become their own ‘man’, but with these two…

Apparently, well, perhaps unintentionally, Gerard edits most of Greg’s photos in Black & White. If that’s to draw less attention from Greg’s grey eyes, uhmm… I don’t know. Oops… I pray he doesn’t face me on this one. But coming to think of it, that could be it.. hah! Gotcha, Gerard! Hah! Gotcha.

I could write a poem, but that would be cliché. I could sing for him the Happy Birthday song, but one talented female friend would’ve stayed awake to rocked his world at exactly 12am.

JULY BORNS ROCK! They rock even harder when born on July 14, counting down 14 days to my birthday.

Hah! Cool, right?

Happy Birthday, Grey Greg.

Hey, take a look at some photos of Greg, taken by Gerard

 

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  Photography: Gerard Nartey

• Subject: Gregory Nartey (Grey Greg)
  

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The Beggar’s Style

I didn’t have enough cash on me anyway, so when he asked for 1-Ghana-Cedi, I’d wanted to find a more appropriate way of dealing with the issue, my money had to go to the right place for a good cause. He didn’t look like a beggar. He didn’t look needy.

He was in a neatly ironed blue shirt, and his black trousers weren’t oversized, they fitted perfectly with his handmade Kumasi slippers. His toenails looked clean and new. And his hair, he’d probably used some curl activator pomade because his those curls looked really dark and defined, with sharp edges.

“I just need GHC1 to buy some food, please, I’m hungry, I don’t do this but I really need to eat”.

“O! GHC1 can’t buy you food that will satisfy. If it’s food you need, I can get you some fruits instead”.

I was still on the pedestrian road walking towards the Nii Boi Station at Lapaz. I had an appointment and was running late. Right when we were approaching a fruit stand, I asked him which fruits he’d like.

“No! No! I don’t buy fruits from here”

Well, darn! A beggar with a choice. Alright!

Still walking ahead, I stop at a fried yam and potatoes seller and signal him.  He shook his head in disagreement and said, “I don’t like their food”

Ahh!!!

I noticed a man behind the yam seller trying to get my attention. He shook his head and pointed at the beggar walking away. Just then, I got the impression he knew the beggar.

I had to do this nicely.

“So, you do not have family to call for help? None at all?”

“They’ve all travelled outside the country”

“All? Ok, that’s fine. What of friends? You don’t have friends you can contact for help? Or have they travelled with your family?”

“Oh c’mon, I can’t ask friends for money, or food. What will they make of me?”

“Wow. Ok. So you can’t contact family or friends. Now, make me understand your situation and I’ll might even give you more than a cedi”

“Oh I can’t tell you”

“But…” [he interrupts]

“Look, are you going to give me the money or not?”

“Oh wow. Ok. No.”

Immediately, he walked away and I continued my journey.

Tales Of An Accra Taxi Driver (II) – Wofa Joe

 

I’ve been driving for 23-years and have never seen such reckless driving as that of this age. Trotro drivers used to carry canes in their vehicles to check the stubborn taxi drivers, so every driver was alert. Not today. No. O! Just look at that… Insanity!

We text and drive anyway, listen to music so loud that we’d have to lower the volume on the radio to see and figure out where exactly we are heading. Today’s driver is has a mind of his own.

Yes, my name is Joe but everybody calls me Wofa Joe. I’m old enough to be your Wofa, don’t you think so? Hahaha… wow nice teeth. You should smile more often. Back in the day, the dental gap was a mark of beauty because it was rare. My wife, of blessed memory, had one. Fortunately, she passed it on to our last daughter.

I like my teeth the way they are, I mean, they’re mine, whose else? I’ve had a couple of traditional African men praise its beauty, and a couple of young men who vocally told me that I’d looked better with the gap closed. But that’s alright. It’s alright.

Driver, that’s my stop. How much?

GHC1.80

Oh! But I just sat in the taxi. It’s even a walking distance.

Then you should have walked. It’s a station car, young lady, fixed fare for every passenger heading towards the last stop.

Mtchw!    [Bangs the door]

Young pretty lady, such indiscipline, it’s sad. She’ll grow. Tsk tsk tsk.

There was an awkward silence in the taxi, why not? We were 2 young passengers left.

Oush! Thank God my stop is the next. I don’t like awkward.

 

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  Photography: Gerard Nartey

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