Posts Tagged ‘superstition’


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!


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?


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?





Growing up, I had no toys, dolls, even teddy bears by my bedside. It wasn’t a big deal because I didn’t watch TV enough to realize other kids owned them.

Since I learned to lay my bed even till now, Mama says, ‘keep your room clean and don’t wear black to sleep, the angels won’t like that’. Surprisingly, I’d been laying white bedsheets till I got my apartment in Accra, Darkuman, very dusty area.

She said I’d to bath before I sleep else the angels won’t come closer.

She said I’d to wear white outfits to sleep for a clean and calm ambience, although I was permitted to wear brighter colours sometimes. I had a lot of white singlets then.

She said I must brush my teeth before going to bed in case I yawn right beside an angel.

Truth was, I believed all that, because Mama said it.

I woke up this morning in a red dress.




[Photo Credit : Akua Boatenmaa Adjei of Akiboat Impressions ]

Don’t expect the black woman to figure out that same flavored ice cream tastes so special because you placed a ring in it. If there be any surprise, it would be;

“oh!! But I just swallowed it. How was I to know there was a ring in there?!”

Or in aggressive personality situations,

“abah!! You wanted to choke me to death?? What if I’d gotten hurt? We would’ve wasted money on medical attention…”

But then Black Love understands that life is not a Soap Opera.

Don’t get her flowers on special occasions; she doesn’t keep vases at home. Flowers die. Recharge her airtime credits or invest into something realistically valuable and longterm; she’ll call you a keeper, even a provider.

In a continent where ‘refined superstition’ still plays a major role in the love life of the people, there’s no need eloping to some beautiful Island to get married when one side or both families are not in agreement to the union. How far and long can you run anyway? There’s nowhere to hide from the art of superstition on the face of this earth.

You can never impress a Black Woman with pick up lines like ‘I can’t live without you’, unless you were dead before meeting her. “Black woman no want live with dead man oo”. You can try ‘I would be telling a lie if I say I can’t live without you. I can, I only wouldn’t want to, that’s why I’m choosing you’ Hah!! Now I’m beginning to think I’m a romantic. Wasn’t that line cool??

Ladies, one key reminder, never stretch the man too long while receiving his gifts and leading him on. Just like the elastic rubber band, when he loosens, you will lose him.

Black Love is a lot of attention, but not entirely. In the early stages, he’ll speak for hours on the phone as if he works with the Communication’s Network. Try not to see it as a phase because it all fades at a point, c’est la vie. There’s almost nothing more to talk about when everything else is exhausted, except for the regular day to day activities which is shared on whatsapp.

Black is enduring. Just as one gets impressed when he sees a blind man going about his activities as though he has sight, Black Love endures.

Black is beautiful, you should see us in love.

Black is black; grey doesn’t come close. Even in the midst of uncertainty, he is certain of his uncertainty.

At the end of the day, our stories don’t end with Happily Ever After because we aren’t fictional. Flowers don’t gloom till they disappear… Exactly.

He understands her kind of love.

She understands he’s just being black.

Anything besides this is coloured love in black skin.