Posts Tagged ‘change’

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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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O! There’s no need for a photo, I have friends on Facebook and that Insta-something-something… eh heh!

All other passengers had alighted at their destinations and I was left with the driver, Yakubu, who decided not to pick up anymore passengers for the rest of the day. When I asked why he didn’t want to make more money, he said,

”sweetheart, I drove a couple all night throughout Osu, and see, I am a Muslim, I am fasting”. (more…)

Maybe, after all, we are all a bunch of desperate people living desperate lives in search of the love that can keep us satisfied with the life we’re living. But we’re never satisfied, are we? We are never satisfied.

We can settle, for the least is greater than none at all. We settle until we finally realize we’ve exhausted that little we chose over ‘none at all’. That is when we get familiar, complacent… we get too comfortable and yearn for change, come what may.

But then, within the period of the edge of complacency and the yearn for a change, we are naturally moved by any element that supports our thought for this change; an element within, an element without.

In the end, we are back to settling for the little we can get, for the least is greater than none at all.

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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
      closed. 
   

      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.
   

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Why are u expecting the tables to turn if you placed it in
      that position initially? Or you meant to say you didn’t have
      foresight then to tell if it wouldn’t look good in your
      favour today? Ok, let’s just say you didn’t know.
   

      It saddens my heart when I hear those who expect supernatural
      forces to take over everything they do; “I don’t feel too
      good but God will heal me”… Faith is what every Christian
      lives by, but then God wouldn’t do what man would do and man
      can never do what God would do. Why did He make doctors
      anyway? Let the spirit take care of spiritual matters while
      you take care of your body according to God’s values and
      direction. 
   

      I am of the belief that change is practically slow yet
      radically evident when the process is completed. Everyone
      undergoes change at a point in their lives preceded by
      natural occurrences, circumstances and environmental
      influence. Change would never change because one thinks he
      can never change. Change would find you and change you,
      unless you are God. 
   

      When tables turn, the setting of that peculiar environment
      changes. If you need your tables turned, you should equally
      be ready to adjust to change… To a new setting.
   

      So, for those who are eager and expectant to turn their
      tables, change would find you. That’s how it operates. There
      is always a price to pay. Nothing comes free. Nothing has
      ever been free. The economist will say ‘there is no such
      thing as free lunch’. 
   

      Maybe you want your tables to turn because your current
      setting isn’t attractive enough. You should equally be ready
      for change. Obviously, some would love your setting and
      others wouldn’t. But in the end, you wanted it and you took
      that step so you needn’t bother if others think your new
      setting is inappropriate, right?
   

      There is nothing wrong with tables turning to suit your taste
      and preferences. Times change, people change, tastes change
      but its the effect of the change on you primarily that
      matters because at the end of the day, when you stand in
      front of the mirror with your best friend, you look at
      yourself first.