Guys don’t get to be off the hook either. Just because it begged to be completed, I wrote this piece as the complement to last week’s bit ‘Who’s That Girl?!’ here: http://goldinwords.com/2012/02/11/whos-that-girl/

I hope I’ll have a witness in the house tonight!

My brothers, once again, we have a problem and I need to address it before we become the fathers that our friends, family, wives and children will love to hate. I happen to believe that every man is called to be a Gentleman.

In the tradition of Slim Shady, let me first ask all the real Gentlemen to please stand up – wait! Not so fast! So you say you’re a Gentleman? Prove it. It doesn’t come cheap you know?! And FYI, I’m not talking about money here.

Coming straight to the point, let me emphatically state: It’s not because of your Pierre Cardin long-sleeved shirts, your Trezeguet watch, your Cole Haan loafers or your Emporio Armani jacket that you gain membership to this Fraternity. It’s also not because of your maxed out KLM Frequent Flyer card either. And let’s not get on the case of your presumed freshness! It’s not the outside that counts my man: it’s what’s inside you.

Now, genetics is inside you, true, but sadly genetics still doesn’t meet the cut for acceptance into this exclusive Fraternity: you cannot be born into this Club! You cannot blame genetics, or call upon it to vouch for you in this case.

To clarify matters, allow me to attempt to describe the Gentleman in one word: Awareness.

The Gentleman is aware he’s powerful. Nature made him male and he’s aware that it entails far much more than a characteristic manner of micturition and procreation! He’s naturally strong and at times may be tempted to rely on his physical prowess to settle his problems for him, but he remembers that brains beats brawn any day. He’s not going to take the easy way out involving his fists just so he can be free of a problem. Because of this he knows to use extra care when dealing with someone less strong than him. Lay his hands on a woman??! Are you insane?! Even the mere thought is repulsive to him! He uses his strength to protect, not to oppress. He knows there’s a definite time to be powerful and he will be powerful when the moment arises, but for that purpose alone – and even then, with compassion & mercy.

The Gentleman is aware he can easily be swayed by his Ego – either way. He knows how he wants things to be and has felt how irritating it gets when someone messes up his plans, but he knows it’s never a one-man show: they might have a point! He therefore doesn’t wait for someone to question his motives but does so himself first. And since he won’t lie to himself, the truth comes out more often than not and he does something about it. He’s therefore aware every step of the way whose agenda he’s really pushing and what to do about it. He is never too big to apologise when he’s wrong (and sometimes even when he isn’t!)

A Gentleman is aware he doesn’t have all the answers and so listens to advice…good advice. He accepted a long time ago that he is not infallible and needs good friends to help him do what is right, especially when his naturally stubborn nature kicks into action, blinding him to the truth. He alienates no one but doesn’t allow just any belief or principle to traipse across his mindscape without vetting. He’s not the kind to go along with the crowd, if he does, it’s because they’re just going his way.

A Gentleman is aware of the true value of a heart placed into his hands. He loves truly. He doesn’t think of love as a crutch or a tool as other men might, causing them to ‘act up’ to prove they’re not ‘slaves’ to its conditions, or a means to get something they want. He doesn’t use the love others have for him to enslave them to his will or to hurt them. The only ‘playing’ he does is with a game console, not people’s hearts! He meets those he loves halfway and does nothing for them at any price.

A Gentleman is gentle. He’s never loud or boisterous, always wanting to be the one whose voice is heard above the rest. He’s learnt how to speak wisdom in the simplest of manners so it can be heard by all, above the loud voices of his peers. He lets you have your way most of the time, not because he doesn’t want to go first, but because he knows there’ll be enough for us all whether he’s at the front or the back of the line – not because he’s intimidated by you.

A Gentleman knows how to separate business from pleasure. And he prioritises! He knows his ultimate aim and prepares for it, not waiting for duty to sneak up on him to find him unprepared and wanting. He does not procrastinate. He always has a plan for success and failure. He knows when to play, how to play and who to play with. He knows which losses and which victories matter most and plans to receive them well. He plays so well that when the time for work arrives, he embraces it wholly, never feeling cheated.

A Gentleman is responsible. He knows what it means to have people depend on him and values their trust so much that he will do his best every time to fulfil his promises. You can count on him. ’Word is bond’, means more to him than a slogan semi-literate boys posing as men say when they bump fists. Once he says ‘I’ll be there’, it becomes a matter for hell or high water to stop him. He’s spent so much of his time investing in his promises that they’re now worth so much that if you could buy shares in it, gold would tank within a day of trading! His word is iron-clad.

A Gentleman is clean! Yes, he knows how to keep himself neat and presentable. He doesn’t hide behind Chinua Achebe’s assertion (of Okonkwo) that “…a man must be hugely built and ugly…” to look the part of a hoodlum! He believes he owes it to himself and all the people he comes into contact with to leave a fresh, clean impression behind, literally and otherwise! NO B.O.!!!

And because first impressions last longest, let me advise all guys wishing to be admitted into this august Fraternity to either enlist the aid of a medical professional or a tailor to determine the actual position of their waists! Belts were not invented to keep your trousers and jeans from sliding off your thighs! Don’t get me wrong, a Gentleman does not have a stick up his you-know-what. He just believes in dressing properly as if prepared to bump into his prospective in-laws at any time. We’re grown men now and there’s nothing to be gained from living the life (and dressing the part!) of a hustler – act your age! Oh, and the women told me to tell you that they like real men who know what they’re about, not boys in disguise. You’ve been told.

And just like the Lady, he knows he’s a magnificent work-in-progress. He will make mistakes, just like his peers but what will separate him from them every time is his willingness to learn from them, and his aversion to repeating them.

I think most important of all; a Gentleman is who he is, for himself. He doesn’t put all these restrictions on himself so he can be acknowledged by others. Even if he gets no kudos for his efforts, he’ll still be an exemplary man.

He is aware most of all, that to be a Man is not easy.

-Tele…

Related posts:

1. Who’s That Girl?! Don’t you sometimes wish the roles had been clearly defined??...

Tell me, why does Kusi’s wahala captivate you so much? Is it because you’ve lived it, or you easily could? What do you think, does the childhood sweetheart win over the impending bride? This week’s piece clarifies things more. But just a reminder on where we left off;

After week one, Kailie and I hit it off like it we had never been apart. But I never really liked her, it was Afua, it had always been her and at the time, I didn’t know it’ll always be her. Because of Kailie, Afua and I got to speak once in a while, then it became more frequent till we could have ten-minute conversations on our own. She was delicate and intricate, sweet and obstinate, so strong willed, so…so…Afua.

I didn’t have to wait a whole year to return to Newark, Aunty Kay wanted me over for the Christmas break too. It was impromptu, but I was delighted to go. Kailie wasn’t expecting me till the next summer, and I guess the chilly winter made allowing Calvin Safo privileges seem like a smart thing to do. When I found out, I was hurt, naturally, but not devastatingly so. It was that vac Afua and I got really close.

*            *             *

I secretly thanked Kailie for her blunder and savored every moment I spent with Afua. Fortunately, they had had some girl squabble and weren’t on good terms, all the better! Things were fast-slow with Afua, I mean we were very close, but she wouldn’t let me in (I don’t meant that literally!). She was full of life and knew at thirteen that she wanted to be a top lawyer with a major New York firm. She was so intelligent, the first time I heard the word ‘evasive’ was when she used it to describe me. She couldn’t grasp how I always managed to dodge her serious questions, and there was something she just couldn’t figure out about me. In retrospect, I guess that’s what kept me on her mind.

Her mum and mine had gotten pretty close, and along with Aunty Kay, had become a trinity of sorts, all the better! On my last day, when she realized she wasn’t going to see me for another six months she gave me a hug so intimate, so pure I wouldn’t trade it for all the kisses I’ve had since (countless, with most meaningless). That’s why if you ask me, I don’t think the sweetness of a hug is proportional to how foamy the lady’s chest is.

Unlike Kailie, Afua called me at least twice a month, which was expensive for a thirteen year old. I often wondered how come I had so much of her attention, there were countless guys wanting her company, guys she didn’t have to dial thirteen digits to speak with.

The summer of 1997 was when I completed Junior High at Soul Clinic. I had chosen Presec- Legon as my first choice school and was hopeful I’d get to attend daddy’s alma-matta. The break between JHS and SHS meant I could spend four months in Newark before returning to Ghana (my folks were resolute on having me school in Ghana). It would be my longest summer in Yankee yet, and the summer Afua and I kissed.

It was Tuesday, June the 15^th (o yeah I remember, and you’ll see why), my 15^th birthday. Auntie Kay worked the afternoon shift at the hospital and Uncle Mark never got home before 8:00pm, so they had promised to celebrate my birthday properly on the coming Saturday.

Afua had come over with a cake and we were in the kitchen putting it in the fridge when she asked me in that therapeutic American-slanged voice that’s haunted me since day one “If there was one thing you could do Kusi, and you didn’t have to worry about if it’ll work or not, whether it was legal or not, whether it was proper or not, tell me, what’ll it be?”

A darn intelligent question for a fourteen year old, wont you say? I just looked at her, and the answer came to me like a sermon. I stepped closer and leaned in, bringing my head closer to hers and holding her gaze the whole time. She stepped back, but I pulled her in and touched my lips to hers. She hesitated a bit, then closed her eyes and relaxed. It was bliss.

Kailie was very upset about the me-Afua development and felt like she had been betrayed. She didn’t realize that being with her and not Afua was a betrayal to the institution of love. Expectedly, her friendship with Afua hit the rocks and it was sad because just a while back they were inseparable, but it was good in the sense that I had less competition for Afua’s attention.

Those four months were special. Afua and I got so fond of each other. We connected like a gold digger with a rich widower, our compatibility was unusual and extraordinary. We had fierce arguments and quick make-ups. I was inexpressive, I’ve never been one for toothpaste-written I love yous on bathroom mirrors. She had wild tendencies and I was a lose canon. Newark couldn’t contain us. In October when I had to return, I knew that Afua would be an indelible part of my life, but she had awakened something in me, something that followed me to Ghana; the thrill of sophisticated female company.

I was a darling boy in Presec, with letters coming in from every area code. I was careless and haughty. I was a lose canon with an urge to live, and a distorted understanding of living. I smoked in the bushes and spent class hours at ‘Mangoase’ the school canteen. My dad was always receiving complaints about my recalcitrance and all but lost hope in me when I wrecked his recently-acquired Toyota Camry. I nearly died in that accident, but was too keen on living to take a cue from it.

I would go to Newark every vacation, frolic with Afua, then return to Ghana and date at least two girls at a time. I was at every plush drink-up and with every hot girl. Classes meant nothing to me and teachers were nothing but proof to the fact that humans could survive on minimum wage. My morals were as loose as my pants, and my countless inscriptions on the walls, domas (washrooms), and desks ensured my notorious immortality in the finest Ghanaian Boys’ School. B.J.B –Blackus Johnny Bravo- was here some.  If Christ had come at the time, I’ll have had to rig my name into the book of Life to stand a chance.

Completing Senior High (irrespective of examination results) came as a miracle to my parents, but dad didn’t want me to visit Newark, he feared I wouldn’t return. I got mum to convince him though, and he eventually acquiesced. A week before I was to leave Afua sent me a very harsh text and followed it up with a brutal 58 second call, after which she cut me off completely. She never wanted to see or speak with me, Kaillie was to blame.

To date, I have no clue why it happened. Maybe it was nature playing a cruel joke on me, but some way somehow, Afua and Kaillie had grown closer and were making up for lost time. As if it would catalyze the intimacy, Kaillie told Afua that when I was with her, I couldn’t stop laughing at her (Afua’s) awkward walk, that I’d insinuated that any cool guy would have to condescend to be with her. The truth is, I did say things like that, but I was just a sill(y)ier boy, and like the fox who couldn’t reach the grapes, I called it names. It had been four whole years, but it cut Afua with the sharpness of a Sumarai’s sword.

You know what baffled me most about Kaillie’s insensitive myopia? The fact that she lost Afua, again! So where was the wisdom in divulging such a needless, careless statement? But well, maybe she never wanted her friendship with Afua back, maybe she just wanted to ruin what she couldn’t have. She too didn’t pick my calls.

When I arrived in Newark, I sought her out and verbally assaulted her to felony-magnitude. It took me two slow, long, hard months to win Afua back. In the process, I discovered that I was in love with her, because it dawned on me that there wasn’t any other girl I’ll have gone through all that trouble to get back. Edien nkwaa? When we surmounted that hurdle, I couldn’t fathom what could ever separate us. We were nineteen then, I was, and she was eighteen. Though unspoken, we had it all figured out; I’d marry her in the Pentecost church I met her in, and we’d live happily ever after. There was no Sarah Swaniker in the picture then, but she was waiting for me, somewhere in the future.

PS: To be continued… Staayyyy tuned!

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1. The Perfect Mistress I was standing on the altar, with Nana behind me....

Don’t you sometimes wish the roles had been clearly defined?? I know I do! Many times, I’ve felt like somewhere along the road (probably somewhere in between male chauvinism and feminism; or between the ‘Good Old Days’ and Beijing!) we got the roles either twisted, or just totally trashed the standards. So in response to this perceived ‘imbalance’ I wrote this piece at the insistence of a friend of mine a while ago. But I also tweaked it a bit.

So this is my take on one of my most favorite people in the world: the Lady.

A Lady is a woman who makes a man act like a Gentleman…

I honestly don’t remember where I first heard that nugget of gold but it’s been one of my central beliefs ever since.

So this’s basically my answer to a question that seems bound to pop up at some point or another: That girl you’re checking out, is she a Lady?

Just like her counterpart’s, the term ‘Lady’ has also been gravely abused to the point that we declare every woman, usually whom we don’t know, a lady (I’m guilty of this too at times, I’m afraid). It’s sad…unfortunate…catastrophic! even, on some occasions, to misuse the term. I guess it’s because we mostly see it more as a term than a qualification. You know it is, right? A Qualification, I mean. It’s kinda like the way doctors would feel if there were short 6-month online courses to attaining your MBChB…or if the President were to be elected to Office based on a carefully planned game of eenie-meenie-miney-moe…or what your parents would think of you choosing your fiancé based on a phone call after a Crusade…lol.

My point is simply that it doesn’t, and shouldn’t, come cheap to anyone. Because it isn’t…cheap. And if you need any convincing, let me assure you that just walking about during your normal day, or even flipping through Facebook pages, will convince you once and for all that ‘the Lady’ is a dying breed – it should be a priority that she be revered, protected and (dare I say) truly loved.

Our contemporary Women’s Lib. advocates would have one believing that the man of today (or any other day!) would love more than anything else to see the woman of today subservient and cowed to his will. I’m not saying that there exist no such Neanderthals today, but that’s not the whole picture. Newsflash: the man of today needs a Lady!

Since I don’t have a shortlist of the attributes of a Lady, this format of mine should help me draw at least a rough sketch for you – so bear with me a while longer. A Lady is Strong.

The Lady is a woman who does not need to be reassured of her femininity. She already revels in it. She is beautiful as she is, and she knows it. She seeks no meagre acceptance by bowing her head to indignities that do not become her. Booty Call?? Are you INSANE?! For your information, her ‘booty’ is not on call! It has never been, and will never be at your whims and caprices – it has value. But because she knows it could all get to her head, so she controls it masterfully. You say she’s beautiful, she agrees with you, laughs about it, and points out that you’re a wonderful person too – and she’s got a new friend, you!

The Lady is very aware of her limitations but rather than deny them or just be scared of them, she prepares for whenever she has to face them and makes sure that though they may remain to mar her beauty, she’s never afraid of them. Forget about her selling herself short! She knows her worth and if you’re not willing to match her in might, you’d just better hit the road because better will come along – she’s not buying!

The Lady sees no gain in scrabbling to grab the pants out of the sluggardly man’s hands. So he’s lazy: that’s his cross! She recognises the true purpose of her position as his Beacon – so that whenever he gets lost she can keep on shining so he makes his way back. She knows that it benefits them better if he keeps his throne, instead of squabbling with him over ownership. Simply because she knows (and if he’s blessed enough to be wise, he knows also), that the reins of power lie within her hands, no matter the relationship! Husband-Wife; Boyfriend-Girlfriend; Mother-Son; Daughter-Father – it’s always the same. Just think about the number of these alliances that have been destroyed by the woman…and complex it against the number that have been utterly saved by the woman, the Lady. The man may have all the power by his nature but it never achieves whatever it sets out to do without Focus: a woman, no, a Lady. In a good relationship, the woman is neck that supports the head (the man) – but the head faces whatever direction the neck turns!

The Lady has had her fill with fairy tales of Prince Charming and Briar Rose during her youth. She knows now she was never meant to be swept away (perish the thought!) by his love and with loving him at the cost of scorning her original God-given brains and wisdom. She also knows that he was never and will never be Prince Charming. But she is absolutely convinced that providing he’s the right man for her – her Gentleman – their love and laughter, pains and tears together could, and would, leave real princes and princesses gnashing their teeth with envy. She dreams with her heart and mind.

And the Lady knows how to rev him up or calm him down. She knows the exact strings to pull to set him off at a run or to hold him to a halt. She knows exactly how to manipulate him when he just can’t see in front of him. But she has learnt when to apply her arts. She has also made herself strong enough to let him make the mistakes he has to for himself. But she always has his back, and he knows it. She knows she is his last defence and does not abuse it. For she realises that he’s always wanted someone who can help direct his path, but will only submit to one who does not go mad with the power over him that he originally gave up to her.

But the Lady is trustworthy. She’s the Ear that keeps on listening even when she wants to shout. She can be counted on to build up when everyone around breaks down or just doesn’t care enough to help. She doesn’t entertain malicious gossip or anything that would divide friends or family. And the ironic thing is that the gossips become her most ardent followers – for good and bad – until it reaches a point that since they would starve if they relied solely on the bad information about her, they end up spreading only the good about her to other people instead!

By no means is the Lady incomplete on her own! She doesn’t need a man to validate her existence; but wisely doesn’t need to condemn or look down on others who might have men in their lives in order to ‘bear’ her own solitude. She’s realised somewhere along the line that it’s better for her to stay alone and happy than to bow to the pressures of society and against her better judgement link herself to a man who (no matter how wonderful he is) will never satisfy her because she was just not made that way.

She’s not an angel, thank God no! But you remember I said she was strong? She is strong because whenever she is afraid she tries to be just a little bit brave. And that’s enough. She’s strong because she doesn’t hide her fear, weakness or tiredness by sweeping it under the rug. She’s strong because she lets you soothe her when she’s tired. She acknowledges that she’s just human and cannot always have all the pieces. She knows she can’t do it all on her own and knows when to ask for help.

Every woman has all this power in-built as part of her original programming. In my final analysis, I guess it all comes down to being aware of it and choosing to use it to build, and not destroy: that’s what makes a true Lady.

…All in my own humble opinion, of course…

(Now, about the Gentleman…)

-Tele…

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‘The Lust Masquerade’ has turned out to be the most read article here on Goldinwords within the shortest space of time. It also generated the most traffic this site has ever seen on one day! I don’t think we’ll know for sure the full magnitude of its ripple effect, but there is something notable those 903 words have inspired, and that’s what I cant wait to share with you.

Solely via this blog, I’ve come to know people I’ll otherwise never have known, Leslie Aryeh is an example. He is one of those people who have gone past being loyal fans to becoming an integral part of this blog. Countless times he’s e-mailed, commented and commended. Though I have never met him, I have more than enough reason to believe he’s a swell person, and a very creative one too, you’ll see. He read ‘The Lust Masquerade’ and was moved to write a poem based on it. The second I read it, I knew you’ll love it. He gave me the honor of titling it, and you know how unconventional I am with titles, so I thought, why not call it ‘The Prick & Dick Trickery’. So here you go, Leslie Aryeh’s…

The Prick & Dick Trickery

I speak of a time

A time when white was white

And black was a blot not a fashionable polka dot

I speak of a time

When a prick was the functioning of a pin

And only Tom and Harry had Dick in between

I speak of a time

When a man was a man not because his pants sagged or

He took shortcuts and prowled on the chicks like a cat.

But his sight was set on the right and for that he was ready to fight.

I speak of a time that’s lost

because we claim to know whatsup better than we know God.

And the blood of the Son is left for Sunday’s chalice.

Yet God is not lost so I dare to dream

To dream of a time

When the black will run to the blood to be made white

When in speech and in act we will ditch all the lust

When we will be inspired by true love,

His love to honour the Man up above

Then we’ll speak of the dream, that came to being in our time.

Leslie Aryeh (c) 2012

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I was standing on the altar, with Nana behind me. The cathedral was sparsely adorned with striking purple and silver banners. Family and close friends who knew the colors had dressed accordingly so that a panoramic view would have given the impression of an elite, contemporary choir. Nana dutifully wiped off non-existent lint from my one-button blue-black tuxedo, ensuring that I was in perfect shape for my wedding. If only that was something another man could ensure.

Father Andoh bellowed in his rich baritone “Shall we welcome the bride?” Indirectly commanding the about three-hundred guests to rise and turn to the dome-entrance of the century-old Holy Spirit Cathedral. The grand piano begun to play the famous, age-old, clichéd (to me) wedding chorus; ♫panpanpanaa, panpanpanaa… ♫ I hadn’t wanted that, but any Swaniker wedding had to play by the Swaniker traditions. I would have rather had P-SQUARE on stage singing their hit song No One Like You

I was anxious to behold her, I hadn’t seen her in two days, and she hadn’t slept over in three months. Her conventional mother had insisted on all the old-fashioned traditions and her too-rich-to-be-human father hadn’t stopped breathing down my neck since three months ago when Sarah told him about our marriage plans.

In the two days I hadn’t seen her, we had exchanged 314 Whatsapp messages, and had been on the phone for approximately three and half hours. She was 59% responsible for that. She told me about the $9,000 dress her sister had brought from London, and the $1,800 tiara her mother had gifted her with. I was sure they’ll be glamorous but my mind kept chiming “All that cash?!” So I was anxious to see her.

Something must have been stalling them outside, because they should have entered seconds earlier. Maybe her mile-long, million dollar cape gift from Aunt Georgia had gotten stuck in the Limo’s door. As I waited, I scoured the cathedral. Most eyes were expectantly turned to the door so I could assess my guests without making awkward eye contacts. Seventy percent of them were invited by Sarah’s folks, so I wasn’t counting on seeing many familiar faces.

“All these rich people” I thought as my eyes swayed from one end of the cathedral to the other “with a net-worth enough to have gotten Ghana out of HIPC, here to see me get married to the daughter of the legendary Albert Swaniker Esq.” In my mind, I stuck my tongue out at them. Then my eyes flashed past something purple. I thought it was someone familiar, so I pulled the brakes on my wandering gaze and reversed. She was seated.

Among the three hundred or so guests, I had counted four aged women, and even they were stoop-standing, turned in the general direction of the door, but she was seated, looking straight at me. Her soft-pink lips curved into a smile that blurred everything else. Her eyes transmitted to my heart, which responded by slowing down and momentarily stopping. They glistened –her eyes-, but from subdued tears or genuine gladness, I couldn’t tell. She waved as if subtly beckoning me to walk down the altar to her. I responded with a stupid smile.

By the time Nana jolted me, Sarah was a few steps into the cathedral.  I tried to focus on her, hoping that no one had noticed the real object of my distraction. I always knew there was a faint possibility, but I hadn’t prepared for it. I didn’t think without notice and an invite Afua would fly to Ghana for my wedding.

“You invited her?” Nana hissed into my ear from behind

“We haven’t spoken in half a year!” I said with a plastic smile and a stiff neck “How could I have?”

He thought momentarily before asking “You want me to take care of her?”

“What do you mean take care of her? What are you, the god father?”

All these said with the skill of ventriloquists.

Sarah looked ravishing. Her curvaceous outline flattered the priceless dress and the diamond necklace made her look more like a member of an endangered species. Her very light skin accentuated the whiteness of her gown. But I couldn’t keep my eyes on her. It was as if my eyes were metallic and Afua was magnetic. Nana pinched me under the pretext of cleaning something off the arm of my spotless suit.

I refocused on my fair Sarah, her right arm laced through her dad’s left as he brought her to me. His jowls and ivory pupils behind thick glasses intimidated me most. My heart beat sporadically. Three of her protective cousins were somewhere in the cathedral. Back in London, they had affiliations to some notorious street gangs. That thought made focusing on Sarah a bit easier. Sally was doing a good job as bride’s maid. They had been friends before they could walk, and now one was walking the other down the aisle. It was all so moving, but I was being moved in different directions.

Finally he handed her to me, I nodded in reverence. I could see her smile behind the veil. In a few minutes, I was to be married to my bride, with the perfect mistress watching. Or was I getting married to the perfect mistress, with my bride watching? I indulged time to stagnate.

*             *             *

O forgive my rudeness, my name is Kusi, Kwamena Kusi. When I was ten, I travelled to the USA with my mum to visit Aunt Kakra, her twin sister. Auntie Kay had a miscarriage around the time I was born, so she treated me like a China. She had relocated with her husband to the States and after two years, she arranged for me to come and spend the vacation between third and first term with her, mum came along.

Auntie Kay lived in Newark, New Jersey. The neighborhood was an overseas congregation of Ghanaians. Four out of every five conversations I overhead were in Twi, and the one in I’m-trying-darn-hard-to-sound-American English. My mum and her sister were very religious and Auntie Kay was in fact a deacon at the Pentecost church in the Newark congregation. On my first Sunday school class, I beheld her, Afua Adjei Koomson, and she spoke no Twi.

I was shy and good-looking. I was a Ghana boy with an American shwag-on, making me quite a fetch. Afua always hung out with Kailie Asamoah, who was a looker too, but her good looks were continent-induced, I always suspected that if she had grown up in Bantama, Nima or any proper GH hood, she wouldn’t have turned out so…nice. Both girls had Ghanaian parents, but neither had ever visited Ghana.

I was in Newark for six weeks. Each Sunday, I’d secretly spy Afua as she entered the church, as she barely moved her petite body during praises, as she intelligently answered questions we were asked, as she smiled dismemberingly at things Kaillie whispered to her, as she politely greeted other Ghanaians her parents introduced her to, my mother was one. Over the weeks, her mother and mine became friends. When they realized their husbands were both from Ejisu, they bonded more and ensured their men became friends too.

It was the penultimate Sunday that Kailie spoke with me. Afua hadn’t come to church that week and she happened to sit beside me. We were both 12, and in America, children grew up faster than night turned to day. Kailie was a child with an Adult’s curiosity. We hang out a lot over the following week and on my last day at church, she found the perfect time to kiss me on the cheek; when Afua was looking our way. I cringed, but what the heck, if you miss the ball don’t miss the man abi?

Back in Ghana, communication with Kailie broke and my life returned to normal. I lived in Nyaniba Estate and schooled at Soul Clinic. I was abrasive, cool, intelligent and had an alpha-male aura, but I didn’t really fancy any of the girls in my class, not at the time (note well). Life was good, my folks were making decent cash, I was the last of three kids and they were kind to me. A year passed by like a breeze and Aunty Kay couldn’t wait to have me come over, I had turned thirteen.

After week one, Kailie and I hit it off like it we had never been apart. But I never really liked her, it was Afua, it had always been her and at the time, I didn’t know it’ll always be her. Because of Kailie, Afua and I got to speak once in a while, then it became more frequent till we could have ten-minute conversations on our own. She was delicate and intricate, sweet and obstinate, so strong willed, so…so…Afua.

I didn’t have to wait a whole year to return to Newark, Aunty Kay wanted me over for the Christmas break too. It was impromptu, but I was delighted to go. Kailie wasn’t expecting me till the next summer, and I guess the chilly winter made allowing Calvin Safo privileges seem like a smart thing to do. When I found out, I was hurt, naturally, but not devastatingly so. It was that vac Afua and I got really close.

PS: To be continued… Staayyyy tuned!

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I write. Sometimes. But I like to challenge myself to do things most people I know wouldn’t. I also like to devise a new ‘take’ on things. So I’m stealing the format of this bit from Benjamin’s ‘Know Me Better’ – at least, that’s my excuse .

The Fun Me

My name’s Tele, Seth Tele Hassan (I always feel a little bit extra confidence after I say my name like that). Tomorrow, the 3^rd of February, I shall celebrate my next birthday (and serendipitously, officially become a licensed medical doctor!)

I don’t do sports (no football, no basketball, no tennis). But I’m not fat! (I think Someone Up There is helping me out with that one) I am a bona fide gamer though. Ever since I saw that frustrating Minesweeper at the age of 3, I was hooked! Now whether it’s a PC game, PlayStation or even on the iPad, I can assure you that I can, in the least, give you the run of your life for your money! Different friends have tried to teach me swimming though, but the thought of that just makes me wince at the memories it’ll evoke…so I’ve just thought of the best way around that: I’ll just wait to learn with my children in the future (that way I can’t do too horribly, and their presence will chase the bad memories away.)

Unpredictability is a quality I very much like to bring to the table in the workings of my day. I also like seeing much more than everyone usually does. I love to laugh and to make people laugh. Especially if it’s a beautiful Somebody. I believe I am a study in Stubbornness, ‘Walls’ and Depth. I don’t like pranks – To quote someone, “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt”. I do however have a knack for languages, accents and the acting that comes with those – but only my closer friends ever get to see that side of me.

The Scholar Me

I attended Presbyterian Boys’ Secondary School (PRESEC, Legon) as a Science student, and then continued on at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science & Technology School of Medical Sciences finishing as a part of the Class of 2011.

I have been reading earnestly since the age of 5, the year I got my first library card. The first book I withdrew was a book of not more than 30 pages, with about as much pictures as there were words, entitled ‘Polynesia’. I only read throughout Primary & JSS, finally picking up the pen to write as part of the requirements for beginning  the long road of aspiration to become an Editorial Board member in PRESEC – and I shocked myself! Needless to say, the flame lit then has continued to burn ever since, only waxing and waning depending on my social & emotional climate. I wrote poetry mostly, only relatively recently turning to prose and social commentary (‘brain-talk’ I like to call it).

I however do remember being cautioned by a teacher in JSS that my essays were too long… :/

So I feel Benjy’s pain.

The Writer Me

I only write what I really want to. For me, that means there’s a little part of myself in every piece I manage to finish that is unique. I write from a place that was formed over years that was kept undisturbed, even from my own perusal – so you should understand me when I say I love every single piece that I make because it doesn’t just tell a brand new story to my readers, but also to me too.

My process has no formula. In dead silence or bedlam; bright lights or by a candle; deeply angry or happily excited; with or without; I will write. Sometimes the theme just jumps out at me and immediately I have to go scrambling for a pen! Other times (when my Muse is being brown!), I get to slowly stew in writers’ block, sometimes even for weeks on end. Those days, I count anything more than a sentence a sizeable victory.

I may be a doctor by profession, but I’m a writer at heart (and a ‘PC guy’ too, I guess).  So I elect to make my own difference by being not just one of those, but all 3, to the best of my ability.

There’s lots more I could add, lots of names that maybe should have been mentioned, but this’s the ‘mp3’ compacted & zipped version of ME. And we’ve still not gotten to 0.001 percent! Remember I said ‘Depth’ at the beginning? This’s what I was talking about! So you just hang around and sooner rather than later, we’ll be the best of friends!

(Oh I can’t wait to borrow money from you!!! Just kidding o! – unless you’d really loan me the money…?)

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The Ghanaian media is currently experiencing a ‘Gargantuan Crimes’ fad, to the extent that the phrase is being used in reference to just about anything. Like, “Look at the gargantuan lunch you’re having”, or “My love for you is so gargantuan eh!” lol, you know how we [Gh] do. It was originally used by the recently-fired Attorney General in describing the nature of wrongdoings plaguing the incumbent government.

Well there’s this dude in the Old Testament who makes any gargantuan crime of any current government official seem like child’s play. What baffles me is that at a time when God was extremely active in king making, this king managed to remain in power for 22 years! I’m also curious about his wife, a woman who scared the legendary prophet Elijah out of his socks animal-skin flip-flops, a woman who is even used in modern day to describe evil, ruthless women who stop at nothing to get what they want; Jezebel.

So I called King Ahab up, and I was like “Yo, what’re my chances of getting an exclusive with you?” I was surprised when he acquiesced, but I guess there’s something about the afterlife that humbles even the proudest of us. When he showed up in my modest crib, he had such an air of humility about him, but alas, it’s appointed unto man to die once, and afterwards face judgment.

After offering him a much-appreciated sachet of special ice pure water (lol), I dug right in.

Me: Ahab, can I call you that, without the ‘King’? Kinda makes it long

K.A: Well, I guess. Much worse has befallen me since I passed over.

Me: Really? Like what? Okay, you know what, let’s start from scratch; tell me about your family.

He sighed, heavily.

K.A: Well, it’s no secret; my dad wasn’t the perfect role model.

Me: I don’t mean to be cold, but you say it like he was close to it. I mean Omri sinned against the Lord more than any of his predecessors right?

K.A: Yes, but he moved the capital of the northern kingdom of Israel from Tirzah to Samaria. The military and strategic implications of that move were profound. We were more strategically located than all the major cities in all directions, so you see he wasn’t all evil. Besides, how can I judge him when I turned out worse?

Me: I was coming to that. Ahab, you were the oldest of three boys. You knew your dad and were old enough to see his mistakes and its consequences. Why on earth did you repeat them, and on a greater scale? I mean the Bible at some point even states “There was no one else who had devoted himself so completely to doing wrong in the Lord’s sight as Ahab.” Chaa, yawa o.

K.A: I want it to go on record, that I’m not being a coward or a snitch by saying this behind her back, but Jezebel was the reason for it.

Me: So why did you marry her then? And why didn’t you divorce her when you realized the negative influence she was having on you?

K.A: I didn’t realize it till it was too late. Plus, at the time, it didn’t seem like a bad idea. I mean, she was gorgeous. She used mascara and eye shadow and other cosmetics in ways that made her more beautiful than any of your current Legon girls. And it was an intelligent decision because politically, our marriage strengthened my rule and that of my fathers.

Me: How so?

K.A: See, her dad was a Phoenician king. The alliance between Israel and Phoenicia provided additional military protection from the Syrians and opened up opportunities for trade and economic growth through Phoenician sea trade.

Me: Wow, solid reasons you got there. But I guess it means that no matter how economically or politically profitable any venture may seem to be, if it doesn’t glorify God, it’s pointless, abi?

K.A: And also that, you’ve got to marry a woman you love, with God’s blessings. Not because your folks or friends think is right for you and will solve your money or career problems.

Me: True. But your mistake repeated itself in your daughter’s life, abi?

K.A: Yeah, Athaliah was sweet, but in so many ways like her mother. When I gave her to Jehoshaphat’s boy, it bound Judah to my kingdom closer.

Me: But it wasn’t worth it, because, it turned the boy into a monster; he killed all his six brothers immediately he ascended to the throne, and he was only 32. He turned out so bad that eventually God himself struck him with a dreadful intestine disease which killed him after two years of immense agony, he was only 40. Nobody was sorry when he died and he wasn’t buried in a royal tomb like they did for his predecessors.

K.A: That’s all true, but I thought you invited me to talk about me.

Me: O yeah, forgive the deviation, it’s just that….never mind. So what was your most trying experience as King of Israel?

K.A: That’ll have to be every experience I had with that trouble maker Elijah. That guy was the worst troublemaker in all of Israel.

Me: Really, I thought he was a renowned prophet.

K.A: Fair enough, but check this. Say you’re king of Ghana, like Atta Mills, he’s your king right?

Me: well, I guess, but he has an expiry date on his kingship. Plus, we call him Uncle Atta or Ecomini.

K.A: Whatever, imagine you were he and a random man comes to tell you there won’t be rain in Ghana for three years, then he just escapes, disappears and for three years there was no rain. For a kingdom atop a hill, can you imagine the kind of pressure I got put under by my subjects?

Me: Honestly, no

K.A: It was terrible I tell you. Whenever the ruler of a country reported that he was not in his country, I had that ruler swear that he could not be found.

Me: So why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance.

K.A: Well, he had a lot of vim , I’ll give that to him. Plus he challenged my priests. I had a feeling it had to do with the rains, I mean three years had passed.

Me: Yeah, how did that go down?

K.A: You know what happened. Plus it’s not one of my fondest memories, seeing 450 of my priests getting humiliated like that. It was a challenge, and my hands were tied. But what baffled me most was how Elijah was able to run ahead of my Chariots all the way to Jezreel. You guys think Hussein Bolt is fast? You should have seen Elijah that day.

Me: It was the power of the Lord that enabled him to do that.

Ahab started laughing

Me: why, what’s funny?

K.A: Well, I’m just wondering where that power went when the dude heard my wife’s threat. I mean she had her issues and all, but Jezzy baby knew how to get things done.

Me: Like the way she got you Naboth’s vineyard?

He got quite defensive

K.A: look I had nothing to do with that. All I did was to tell her why I was so sad and gloomy. Naboth had it coming, I mean who refuses a king?

Me: Come on Ahab, you owned a palace and so much, would your life have been so miserable without that that small patch of land?

K.A: But it was so close to my palace and such a perfect place for a vegetable garden. Besides, I offered to buy it or give him a better vineyard. Would Sadam have done that? Or Idi Amin? No, but I did, and what does he tell me? Some rubbish about inheriting it from his ancestors.

Me: So that was enough reason to kill him?

K.A: I didn’t do it! I didn’t write that letter and issue those orders

Me: But you were delighted when Jezebel told you he had died, in fact, you rushed to take over the land.

K.A: Look, when Elijah pointed out my wrongs, I repented and humbled myself. That’s why God told Elijah that he wont bring disaster on me during my lifetime.

Me: Amazing grace!

K.A: I know right!

Me: So about that fatal mistake that resulted in your death. If you were so right with God, how come you couldn’t tell that the prophet Micaiah was speaking the truth?

K.A: (bowed his head and sighed heavily) E not be easy o. You see, my good friend and father in law to my daughter –Jehoshaphat- had come to visit. You seem to know your scriptures, so I’m sure you know about how much better a king he was in God’s sight. Well, at the time he came to visit I had decided to fight the Syrians and reclaim some land that rightfully belonged to us.

Jeho agreed, on the condition that we consult God on the matter. 400, I say 400 of my best prophets said it was God’s will to go. I mean how many prophets does it take for you guys to accuse your mothers of witchcraft these days? One! So to have had 400 prophets say it was cool to go to war was a done deal.

Me: but Miciaiah prophesied otherwise.

K.A: See, I never liked Micaiah because he never prophesied anything good for me, always something bad.

Me: Can you blame him? I’m sorry, that came out wrong, you go on.

K.A: hmmn, asem o. Well, so when Micaiah said I’ll lose the battle, me I wasn’t shocked, that’s how he’s.

Me: But he gave you solid reasons

K.A: Well he said he had a vision in which God –surrounded by his angels- was asking who will deceive me so I’ll go and be killed in Ramoth. In the confusion some spirit bi stepped forward and offered to do the job by making my prophets prophecy lies, but I thought he was making it up.

Me: So he wasn’t wrong after all.

K.A: duh! And the shocker was that I got shot even in my disguise.

Me: maybe it wasn’t good enough.

K.A: But it was! No one could have told the difference between me and the thousands of soldiers. It was my friend Jeho who was supposed to die, because I had convinced him to go for the battle in his royal garments. The damn Syrian king had also ordered 32 chariot commanders to attack no one else but me, or the one in the royal garments, so I was not supposed to die.

Me: So how come he lived and you died?

K.A: My brother, if your time catch a, e catch o. It was some stray bullet arrow that got me. I bled to death later that evening.

Me: I’m sorry. But I think your son’s death was more sad. Ahaziah ruled for only two years.

K.A: I blame myself you know. The acorn doesn’t really fall far from the tree. Maybe if I’d been a better father, set a better example, he wouldn’t have done the things he did.

Me: Yeah God got pretty upset when after he got seriously injured by falling off the roof of his palace (authors note: Roof paah? What’re the chances of a king falling off a roof?!?!! ), he sent for a mallam, a juju man, some powerless Philistine god. As if there was no God in Israel to consult.

K.A: He didn’t even have a child

Me: So tell me Ahab, if you could do things differently, what would you change? Maybe I can learn something from that.

K.A: For starters, I’ll have married the right woman. Most of what I did wrong was at her urging. Second, I’ll not have emulated my father, I’ll have been a better man for my kids. I’ll have taken God more seriously and done away with the idols Jezzy baby brought with her from Phoenicia. And I’ll have paid more attention to Micaiah, I wont have died. At least, not then, not that way.

NB: Other than structure and delivery, none of what you’ve just read is fiction, it all happened! There were other very interesting facts time and focus didn’t allow me to put here. Read 1 Kgs 16- 2Kgs 1 and 2 Chrs 17-22 for the full story.

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In the past two years that we’ve been walking this road, we’ve had a wonderful time. Every week (well, almost), I’ve provided you with a refreshing reading experience, and you have shown your contentment by visiting frequently and bringing friends along. Today, there are over 500 of us fans, and over 300 of us subscribers from all walks of life. Those who visit, but leave no trail (ghost visitors) are several hundreds too.

We have frequent visitors from seventy countries in all five continents of this world, and that’s even our worst case scenario! This year, we’re on a GROWTH SPREE. The emphasis isn’t on the numbers though, but on how impressed each visit here leaves you. That’s the way to go abi? You’ve complained countless times about how infrequent posts updates are – I heard. You’d like that there weren’t so many gaps between posts too, right? I’ve tried to fix that. And so I have great news for you. Goldinwords is getting a SECOND resident blogger!

Our new Acquisition (hehehe) has gifted hands and an ingenious mind that works in a way that defies the status quo. But you know that, right? He has featured here several times and in fact, one of his posts; , is on the top 5 most read on this site The Great Mis-Understanding. His flavour is unique but just as refreshing. His wit, humour and charm seep into his writing, and I could go on blowing his horn till I get a sore throat but that’s needless, because you’ll find out for yourself. He’s Hassan, Dr. Seth Tele Hassan. O yeah, he’s a doctor. I’ll leave him to tell you everything else about himself later.

The thing that drives performance is passion, and to make a long-term commitment in spite of a clogged doctorial schedule is to me the greatest indicator that we’re going to be getting more than we bargained for, you and I. Together with Tele, Goldinwords will reach new heights. You’ll enjoy content from two excellent writers with unique writing styles on a frequent basis. We’ll take turns in writing about everything that matters to you in ways that you can’t have enough of.

If you have any expectations concerning this partnership, please communicate them. Your feed-back and response to subsequent posts will be the ultimate indicators of whether this is working or not, it’s really all about you you know. If you’re not fine with this it wont happen. If you are to grow tired of it (highly unlikely), it’ll lose its life, so yeah, you matter that much. Don’t get it twisted o, this is all a ploy to get you inextricably hooked to Goldinwords. Pray for us when you can, it’ll come back to you in fantastic pieces!

This year’s gonna be awesome, you’ll see!

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A few days ago (for that’s how it feels like), you had to eavesdrop on the conversation of a bunch of drunk horny unmarried men to hear about sex. You had to get the corner booth of an obscure internet café a bus-ride from your town, close to midnight to feel ‘safe’ enough to visit a porno website. You had to get stranded in town to chance upon a prostitute at Circle or the Akuffo Addo round-about in Cantoments. You could freely use dictionary words like ‘come’, ‘penetrate’ ‘blue’ ‘balls’ ‘dirty’ ‘eat’ ‘prick’ ‘cock’ doggy’ ‘pussy’ and ‘wet’ without the worry of being misunderstood. Those were the good old days (relatively).

Now it is in the jokes we laugh at, in the songs we dance to, in the interesting chats we have, in the good movies we watch, in the statuses we update. It’s in the lifestyles of our mentors, in our favorite books, on billboards and banners. Tell me, what on earth is a horny-looking half-naked curvaceous woman doing on a fruit juice billboard? An active sex life has become a badge of honor, an indication of ‘whassupness’, of being contemporary.

Sexual innuendos and subtleties have become the tenets of exciting memorable conversations. Friends-with-benefits is fast becoming in vogue. The detachment of emotional obligations from making out et al, has made sleeping around and kissing the person behind door number ummnn…3! as meaningless as faithless Christianity.

The thing that so easily corrupts our spirits is now hidden in plain sight, is silently ghetto blastering, has gotten bolder than a spoilt rich kid with a feeling of entitlement. Our white garments are so stained, but we’ve rationalized them into fashionable polka dot attires, so that our consciences are free. That’s whassup.

We’ve imbibed, consumed, assimilated, tolerated and condoned lustful stuff so much so that we’ve been socialized to see it as normal. So what’s the big deal with a girl kissing another? Is it a boss sleeping with his secretary that you haven’t seen before? Are you serious? You haven’t ever watched a sex clip? What’ve you been watching, cartoon network? Even that one sef, ‘Family guy’, is mature enough.

We’ve normalized it to the point where we even analyze scripture from compromised perspectives. Take the Garden of Eden story for example, some boys boys were having a ‘Bible study’ about it and guy 1 says to the rest “I don’t get Adam you know, how on earth could he have chosen apples over nipples? If I was he, mankind would never have fallen; I’ll never see nipples and apples then reach for the apples!”

The chains that we can’t see, have us bound tightest. The fact that we have eyes but cant see the magnitude of the mud we’re swimming in makes us even more fitting members of the Society for the blind. The seductive intrigue of a fling and its leanings are the signs of a fast-depleting moral fiber.

In the strictest sense of the words purity and righteousness, we’re rubbish. I know because when I look around in this messy bin, I see you and just about all our friends. And you know why our situation is more saddening? It’s because we know, we know that if we abide in His word, the things of the world will not appeal to us. We know that when we have on the full amour of God, we’re immune to carnal infections. But in spite of all this knowledge, we’re treating the pearls of life and His grace like pigs would. C’est bon?non!

We’ve got to get our acts together people, this broad road is confusing us with the narrow one. Cant you see its too darn comfortable? Lust is masquerading as a harmless joke, as a stringless fling, as emotionless sex, as naughty status updates, as short sex scenes in otherwise good movies, as modern disses insults. Further down this road is the inevitable lowering of standards and compromising of principles, culminating in the truncation of an erstwhile fruitful walk with the Holy Spirit. A sad end to such a promising story.

Don’t you see that when you do wrong you don’t feel like you have the moral right to correct another? Maybe a word of caution could have returned him to his senses, saved her life, but you’re so tangled up in your lust-induced mess that you give him a ‘thumbs –up’ for something he should be scolded for.

So since we know what’s right, what’s the way out? Can we decide not to laugh at sex jokes? Can we in fact skip it altogether when we see where it’s heading? Can we return to ‘Wo y3 papa?’ Are you correct? And leave the ‘Fucks’ and ‘Screw yous’ alone? Can we take some time to just look at ourselves through God’s eyes? You know, the way He says we’re part of a royal priesthood, a chosen generation, a peculiar people, called and sanctified by His blood, set apart for greater works, lights of the world and salt of the earth, empowered to triumph over snakes and scorpions (both literally and metaphorically), can we do that?

Can we just conduct reality checks from time to time and see if we’re living by our true identities or by some cheaper, perverted version of it? Maybe if we do, we’ll develop a sense of urgency that will drive us from the thief of life to the source of it. Will you give it a shot?

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The kind of boyfriend I refer to in this article is the kind who earnestly desires to be faithful and truly doesn’t want to lose you, not the kind who mentally undresses all your female friends and abjectly disrespects your commitment. Such a man child doesn’t deserve you for even an online acquaintance.

Becoming your boyfriend’s best friend is an ambitious quest. You’re looking forward to the day when he’ll rush to confide in you before calling his boys boys. What are his secrets? The ones he’ll tell his clique but not you, his girlfriend. Why can they call him silly names with him laughing in response, but when you say same, he flips and feels disrespected? They casually ask him ‘W’agyimi anaa? Why you fool so? Abodam” He giggles and replies “Daabi, me na me y3 gyime3 nu, I am foolishness itself” They rumble on about other matters and bark at each other by the minute. That is their intimate expression of camaraderie and it’s beautiful, considering how petty your girlfriends can be.

You try, you really do. You study them, how the guys speak, their responses to various comments. You try to understand their dynamics, then later when you emulate it, you fail miserably. He jokingly says something funny but silly, and in the spirit of the moment you ask “Aden w’agyimi anaa?”. Hehehehuhahuha (me laughing at you in advance)

“Ah but Yaw says that to you all the time” you say in your defense.

“Are you Yaw?”

“But I’m your girlfriend”

“Exactly, my girlfriend and not boys boys!” You look on in shock, will you always be second to his crew? Hasn’t your childhood fantasy always been to be closer to your boyfriend than any other guy or girl? Well consider this your lucky day, I’m the insider with the filla.

To be your boyfriend’s best friend, you must be capable of ridding yourself of any romantic bias in your response to his confessions. Can you do that? Can you act friendly if he tells you he’s afraid to get married?

“Are you serious?!” You’ll probably ask before it returns to you that he’s confiding in a friend and not a sweetheart. Can you promise that later on you won’t ask him “So why’re you with me?  Therein lays the near-impossibility of being his best friend. His crew on the other hand will yell obscenities at him, then neutralize his fears and bring him back to you.

If you’re objective, you’ll realize that there are things he tells you but doesn’t even mention to them. You see tender sides of him that they never get to see. He phones you more often than he does them, calls you sweet nothings and will spend his future with you. So is it really necessary to raise tantrums about why his crew has some advantages you don’t?

Don’t try to win against your guy’s crew, win them over! You see, that’s the key. Speak through them not against them. When he goofs and they’re lashing verbal carnage on him, snicker and make your satisfaction obvious. Relish the moment, but don’t stretch it.

Sometimes when you feel he’s hiding something, he probably is, but you don’t always need to know what it is. It may be something you’re better off not knowing.

I know a guy who had a fling with this other girl. He felt terrible afterwards and put in place serious measures to ensure it doesn’t recur. Weeks later, his girlfriend chances upon a text message this other girl had sent him and viciously attacks the issue. It’s dead and dealt with by this time, in fact, there had been many chances for an encore he had successfully turned down. But the more she kept going on and on about it, the more she kept pushing him, the more she kept weakening his resolve. The way he saw it, he had done wrong, repented and put effort into preventing a recurrence. If this was what he was going to get in return, then was it worth all the safe guards he had worked to erect? More so, he felt vindicated about not coming clean. If she was this wild about a dead case, how would she have reacted if he had told her just the day after?

I am not taking sides, but the price of the ability to juice out your man is in being tactful, trusting and nonjudgmental. Forgive me if this sounds chauvinistic, but every time your man comes home to you, clean, maybe slightly scathed, he has fought to do so. (Yes, you fight to remain faithful too, but we’re talking about him here, remember?).  if you scold your man too much for almost-goofing, the next time the temptation presents itself, he just might go through with it. The better way is to drop a hint of concern and confess trust and express faith in him, it’s more haunting than a threat.

So the ball is in your court now, isn’t it? How badly do you want a boyfriend for a best friend? Can you make the sacrifice? Holler.

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