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March On! Shall We?
Every day is a karaoke. You choose the song list!  Sing to beautiful things this March. Decide to.
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Susu Boxes & Useless Prayers.

17 Apr

susuWhen I was little, I kept a piggy bank. I lie, piggy banks actually looked piggish, mine was the creative masterpiece of an unaccomplished area carpenter. It was still good though. It was a small box with a slit on the top of it. Susu box, that’s what we called it; the Ghanaian child’s first encounter with the concept of saving.

Originally, those things were meant for keeping pocket change. If you kept dropping spare money in it long enough, you’d eventually get a significant sum. Well not in my side of Osu; there was no spare money or change anywhere. You had to rely on generous visiting uncles and faded coins dropped and forgotten in sandy, sun-scorched corners. Forget Jack Sparrow, those were the real treasure hunts. Sometimes the most coins were in Nyaniba Estate gutters. We’d ‘fish’ them out, wash them and ‘launder’ them in our susu boxes. Because of the sparse flow of spare change, it took quite a while to get any meaningful amount in your box. The most heartbreaking days were the ones that you’d return from school to find your box smashed and your big brother or cousins gone. Untraceable!

Those were the risks of ultra-small scale micro financing back in the day. It wasn’t always like that. There were good times when after months of dropping coins and folding paper, you’d pry your box open and find enough money to become your own Santa. You became the area star when you walked onto that bald, sandy pitch with your-own-sweat ‘case 5’ football in your armpit. Even though the whole world knew you were crap at football, Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

How ‘BIG’ Are You ;-/

03 Apr

how bigGo on, check, I got a moment. Are you happy? Does it match your ego or do you need an enlargement? I hope you aren’t getting this twisted. See, I’m not referring to a dangling physical organ that’s only good for piss and sex. I’m referring to how closely you match God’s definition of a man, especially when you have a woman in your life. That’s what manhood really is.

Picture a scenario where you set an exam for a primary 4 class you teach. It’s that exam that will indicate which student is smart and which isn’t. At break, your kids decide that if they’re going to base their sense of intelligence on your exam, it’ll mean too much work. But they still want to be intelligent (or seen as that), so they set their own exam with tests like “whose piss can reach farthest? Whose pen has the most ink? Whose exercise book has the most leaves? Whose school bag has the most zips?” In the end, the most intelligent boy in the room is nothing more than the one with the most things, and the unfortunate smart kid starts feeling stupid.

That’s how we are, you and I. We redefine standards, so we can qualify. We redefine what it means to be a Godly guy, so we can screw around and still sing in the choir without hurting our conscience. We redefine what it means to be a good husband so we can disrespect our wives and still feel like God’s gift to women. In the end, the most ‘manly’ man in the room becomes nothing more than the most prolific sex machine.

You see, the most important nature of a real man, is how good a spiritual cover he is over his girlfriend, over his wife (not concurrently though) and his family. Being a boyfriend is more of a spiritual situation than a romantic one. Because unspiritualized romance is ripe for carnal exploits.

You should be the reason your girlfriend ends up in heaven and not beneath it. You should stop groping and start Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

The Prophet & His Whore.

24 Mar

lingerieToo often, we marry people we aren’t perfectly sure God approves of for us. Can you blame us? We fall in love too quickly, and then become afraid that should we inquire of God’s will and discover that we’re in love with the wrong person, we couldn’t survive.

Rather than asking for his will to be done, we pray that His will better be in line with ours. Our fickle minds reason that if He could make meaning of an abortion-surviving baby conceived by fornication, surely, he can make something good of our decisions, no matter how bad they may be. He is God after all isn’t he? So bending shouldn’t be a problem for him.

Watching that luscious body leave your life (especially when you’d been waiting years for marriage to give you legitimacy to tap that), seeing him walk away with that thick wallet, you tend to think ‘Am I now going to start afresh again? You forget that you won’t be in that position if you’d been spiritual with your affection to begin with. You should be glad when God forcefully removes from your life people you were too cowardly to let go. But I digress, this is after all about the prophet and his whore, and neither of them have represented yet.monkey 1

I made the most startling discovery this morning. God actually commanded Hosea to marry a whore! You see Hosea was a prophet. At a point in history, he was the privileged one God spoke to Israel through. What a holy man he must have been to hear from God so often! Probably a virgin, a purer kind of the ‘kabeying’ tongue-speaking, fire branded prayer warriors who set Sarbah field and Paa Joe stadium ablaze with their ceaseless prayers. Then right there in the first Chapter, God asks him to marry a woman who would become a prostitute!

Lesson 1: God is keen on who you love. The guy or girl he intends for you is alive right now. He knows who that person is. Ask him. Be sure you’re not getting yourself stuck with a less-glorious rib.

So yes, Hosea marries this Gomer chick. Nice wedding, several brides maids, towering cake, facebook page, dedicated website with live streaming, cross-continental paypal-enabled offertory and a strictly-by-invitation reception where they perform a well-rehearsed choreography she’d imagined since she was a child. Later, they had three children. God commanded them to Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

Tears That Tickle.

04 Mar

Just recently, I chanced on the most brilliant piece. My friend -Awo- shared it on her wall. The original writer is anonymous, but the message! Boyyy, the message is as relevant to you as it’ll be to your descendants :-) ! Some things are timeless, like tears that tickle. Here Goes;

 

Tears That Tickle

Sometimes…we must be hurt in order to grow,

We must fail in order to know,

We must lose in order to gain.

200152617-001

Some lessons are best learned through pain.

Sometimes…our vision clears,

Only after our eyes are washed with tears.

We have to be broken, so we can be tender,

We are sick so we can rest and think better

On things more important than work or fun.

 We are taken for a trip near death,

 So we can assess how we’ve run…

 *         *         *

Sometimes… Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted in Poems

 

The Whatsapp-Passenger Connection!

26 Feb

passengerI’m an advertiser. I take boring things and make them seem exciting. I have another blog where I write more about that side of my life (Advertures). In searching for a beautiful ad to write about, I chanced upon this Budweiser Super Bowl one. I was smitten, so much that a lighted silhouette of me would have shown hairs standing so erect you could confuse them for acupuncture pins.

One thing that made that ad so powerful for me, was the music. And since I’m a sucker for good music, I dug deeper. It was from this guy called ‘Passenger’. Then I went on to listen to more of his music and watch a few of his shows. His talent is incredible.  In June 2012, he was a nobody, playing to crowds of 17! 17! Now, the light of his stardom makes sunlight seem like shadows. He said before a sold-out mega audience how clueless  he’d been that just a year from 17 onlookers, he’ll be in the major league.

Iwhatsapp1n may 2009, this nobody put up a tweet about how tweeter had refused him a job. Later in August he put up another one about being bounced by facebook. You see this guy was friends with this other guy who emigrated from Ukraine to the US when he was 17 years old. He lived in so much hardship that he survived on food stamps. These two met at Yahoo with their separate series of sad stories. The Ukrainan lost his mum, became an orphan with no family. A year or two later he started whatsapp. In the beginning, it was just meant to be an app that let statuses appear beside your phone contacts. Then it evolved into the SMS replacement it is now. Both guys built this.

Last week, Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

Pot Bellies & Poor Childhoods -The Magical Link!

18 Feb

Definitely not me :-DWhen I was in senior high, there wasn’t enough flesh on me to make a fowl with. Now though, I think I could wrap around two cows fairly easily. Of course I’m kidding, just one cow will do. I still am!! but you get my drift? The hollow in my shoulder is long gone and the stomach that curved inwards is now slightly inverted (note the emphasis on slightly).

My friend Yaw has this theory; pot bellies are the preserves of men with poor childhoods. It’s highly contentious, but just you wait.

You see, some of us grew up in zongos where giant gutters were game reserves, not sewage outlets, heck we cooked good food with sand and hibiscus flowers. Egg (whether boiled or fried) was shared among at least four children. There were times you’d go for your plate of rice and stew and see the shiny white bulge of an egg perching right there in the center. You’d flip it over and see that you’d been tricked! It was just half of the thing! If a stubborn ah-don-care auntie or uncle happened to be around and your plan was to save that protein for the last bite, you’ll learn very quickly that earlier is always better.

Powdered milk was dished out in tiny teaspoons and the evaporated milk was served in droplets. Coke -and his brothers- was too concentrated to be drunk like that so it had to be diluted and shared among (at least) two kids. Cerelac? CERELAC? Cere-what??!! Go and drink Ma koko and Tombrown wor hor wor hor. If Arlecchino Ice Cream depended on my childhood to succeed,  Read the rest of this entry »

 
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How Love Found Him… by Tele

15 Feb

But for my unscheduled sabbatical, I probably wouldn’t have needed this (re)introduction. I’m kinda sorta the other writer here on Goldinwords, but apparently trying to get that little bit ahead of the pack meant working longer than you’re awake and harder than ten masons put together. But in the spirit of the Season, I was pushed  to create this. Meet Vin: one-time bad boy who would have hung it all up for Pauline, if not for Life…& Genevieve. The kind of story that starts today, goes back into the day, then returns to later today and ends in a shower… :-)

Based on a True story… :o

*        *        *

Bittersweet awakening.

Personally, I think it’s unfair that her face should be the first one I thought of waking up this morning.

Vincent cradled his head in his hands as he sat up in bed. By an uncanny stroke of (?bad) luck his leave began this Friday.

The house was quiet – Genevieve had probably left to drop off the kids at school.

together..

together..

The kids – Ayiwa & Fiifi. He smiled. He still couldn’t believe that Vin, the Heartstopper, was now a responsible husband & father of 2. Thank God that a consummate skirt chaser was still eligible at the end of the day to be blessed so.

He ran his hands through his day-old stubble as he remembered…Pauline.

That girl stopped me dead in my tracks mehn, he mused wryly. The ironic part was that he’d known Genevieve by then, but someway somehow, they were never in the ‘right place’ at the right time for things to *click* – that came later.

But Pauline…that woman nearly killed me oh, he grimaced at the thought. It was only in the darkest recesses of his mind that he would admit to himself that she was the first woman who actually Stopped the Heartstopper.

Read the rest of this entry »

 

Me & The Old Testament Boys Boys

12 Feb

Hands up! Anyone who’s wished for the chance to ask Eve why she bit the Apple, or Cane why he killed Abel and lied about it to the Guy who has an eye in every square inch of space.

Hands up, anyone who’s wanted to ask Noah what he’ll have done if the flood never came, or Lot’s wife what she saw before turning into a pillar of salt. Okay, then you’ll envy me when you find out I actually got the chance. No jokes, I did. I really really did. But I just met up with three of them; David, Solomon & Joseph. Our chat was ttiigghhtt!

The twist is, when we met up, they all looked twentyish, irrespective of their chronological appearance in the Good Book. David looked kinda smallish. He had a woolen cap over a gentle cut and his loafers, black three-quarter pants and sky-blue lacoste gave him a d-bee look.

Solomon had kept his hair, so it was tied in a pony and he had his beard on. He wore a brown leather jacket over a Woodin short-sleeved shirt and black corduroy pants and leather slippers.

Joseph was the finest of them all. He looked like Taio Cruz in a leather jacket with a white undershirt and stunners coming off some motorbike bi.

I had to meet some friends of mine at the food court in the Accra mall, it was a Saturday afternoon and the place was packed. Their table was the only one with a spare chair, so when I took it, it was out of necessity. Then when I looked at them, they looked familiar. In some weird way, they looked like characters I’d seen in the ‘My Book of Bible Stories’ picture book I had when I was a kid.

When they eventually confirmed my suspicion, I was like “Today be today. I got a dozen quick ones for y’all.” So thus started our chat.

Me: Dave, I gotto tell you mehn, I feel you on the whole you & Goliath thing, but how the heck did you manage it? I mean what if you’d missed or your sling started acting up, how’ll you have gotten out of that? Read the rest of this entry »

 
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A Virgin In Love -By Nana Yaa A. Gyamfi

31 Jan

I confess, the header is my idea, our guest writer -Nana Yaa- had a more…uhmm subtle option. Beg her to forgive me :-) . I think this piece is timeless and phenomenal. It’s coming from so deep within. You don’t even need to speak English to like it, heck it could even make a monolingual Chinese man smile. It beautifully surmises how women feel in love -from a woman’s perspective. I  dare you not to love it. N-Ya, tell ‘em.

*      *      *

This is one of my ‘private poems’; but I want to share it because I’ve been blessed by it at a time I’ve been pretty muddled up. I pray it helps at least one other person as it has me:

 

CLARITY

Here we are: involved in not being involved

Trying to keep the lines neat and straight;

To grow in friendship as romance evolves

And we become each other’s soulmate.

Here we are: taking the less-travelled road

Courting Agape, resisting Eros

Allowing commitment to unfold

Guarding our hearts like a fragile rose.

love maze

Some days, I struggle to tame the passion

Thoughts of him ignite in me

And I do hardly anything but imagine

How beautiful our union will someday be.

Some days, I think of the roles we’ll play:

Spouse, co-parent, companion, partner

And in my daydreams, we’re always having a good day:

Comfy, content; lots of kisses and laughter.

  Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted in Poems

 

Too Late To Love Me Back.

28 Jan

bismarkYou know how you can be so sure that you don’t want something? That you’re better off without it? and then the second it slips through your fingers, you feel the emptiness, and in just an instant you are so absolutely certain that that’s all you ever wanted and can’t imagine how  you could have been how you were when you were wishing it were gone? Well it happened to a friend of mine…her boyfriend,and I’m gonna let her tell you herself.

*     *     *

So I’m 13 years old and my cousins are having a party, my cousins are twins, and I too have a twin. We were like quarters of each other, but my sister was the bigger half of us two; has always been, is and always will be. At this party there was a boy. I’ve always known whassup, right from my Morning Star days, I found it rather awkward that this gorgeous guy would shut me out totally. Beyond the time when my cousin introduced us, he didn’t so much as ask my surname. So it’s pretty strange that he remained on my mind over all the other guys I had bugging me even at that age.

We met once or twice afterwards within that year, he didn’t change, never made an attempt to know me better. I was disgusted, romantically disgusted, I concluded he was a pushover, he pushed my heart over, but I was a child, I had my whole life to live, and in a matter of time he faded out of my heart, and then my mind and then my life and then I grew up. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted in Blog