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Posts Tagged ‘relationships’

The Perfect Mistress iii

26 Mar

Sorry it’s taken so long to bring you this. I feel like i don’t even have the moral right to…to…to talk plenty, lol. So I’m just going to dig in. I hope you find it was worth your wait. But this’ where we left off last;

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.

*         *         *

A bit over three months after we made up, I moved in with Afua. O yeah we did! By Ghanaian standards, it would have been unthinkable, but we were flying high in the land of limitless possibilities. Ask me anything right now, in any language, from any era, and still, answering you’ll be easier than explaining how moving in with her felt like. Imagine the happiest day of your life, what if you could relive it every day! (Ps: If it’ll get boring over time, then you probably haven’t really been that happy :-p)

It was some time in July, and I had gained admission to Legon, but who thought of schooling in Ghana when he woke up every morning to heaven-wrapped-in-flesh? My future was in the US, with Afua. Whether or not I’d continue with my education, how I’d get a job and stay independent of my father (who was outraged), was irrelevant at the time. Relevance was breathing Afua’s air, being in her space, loving her, knowing her. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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The Perfect Mistress II

13 Feb

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. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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The Perfect Mistress

06 Feb

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. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Being your Boyfriend’s Best Friend-the dream

19 Jan

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. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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2 Cupids, 1 Heart- The Showdown

06 Dec

Honestly, this Chris and Ginny palaver is taking a toll on even me o, so I can imagine  what it is doing to you. Today he tells her, see what happens. But remember where we left off?

I feigned disapproval. Then later as we were driving to the GIMPA gardens to confirm our reservation for Saturday’s wedding reception, I feigned deep interest. I feigned just about every emotion that day. The only emotion I could have easily and sincerely expressed would have been abject confusion.

Should I tell him? Should i ‘hypotheticalize’ it and ask for advice? Should I find Ginny, grab and kiss her and let things find their feet? Whatever it is I had to do, it had to be done in forty-eight hours. That was all I had left until the love of my life got married to my brother-of-a-friend.

*        *        *

Traffic in Accra was more dreadful than a skin disease. After GIMPA, we drove to the Accra Mall and finalized arrangements with Kwame Pocho, Accra’s paparazzi sensation. We picked up much needed cheques from two of Sam’s bosses in Osu and Labadi. Then we drove towards Airport Residential area to confirm the African Regency reservations; that’s where the couple would spend their first married night.

Sam asked what I thought of the king size bed. My cruel mind visualized Ginny lying on his bare chest, covered in nothing but a duvet, and I rushed to the bathroom like I’d had a purgative for breakfast. I couldn’t stand the thought, I didn’t want to admit it, but the manageable trickle of jealousy in my veins was growing into a steady stream.

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2 Cupids, 1 Heart- Loving my best friend’s girl VI

22 Nov

How’ve you been? I’m not going to blabber (much to your relief I figure). Straight to the main course we go. But first, where we left off last week;

Somewhere in the middle of the stack, I saw it. The stained, cover-less exercise book I wrote in, not lecture notes. You see, as a matter of principle, I don’t keep diaries. I’d write my precious thoughts in stanzas. It was my little-known talent. I didn’t speak of it much because it was inconsistent with my alpha-male aura. Can you picture Christiano Ronaldo and Shakespeare in one person? Exactly! Back in the day, I used to rap some of the poems, but some things were too pristine, too ethereal, too pure for a ghetto rendition, Like Ginny. Half of the scribbles in that book were about her.

“Hi Chris, it’s been ages.”

OO SHIT! That wasn’t Amma, and it couldn’t have been Sam’s voice. I turned, slow mo, it was Ginny. She was standing in the doorway, my doorway. My bladder filled spontaneously, and I got it like a friend request; I wasn’t over her.

*       *        *

My pupils dilated, I felt cold all over and my hands moved clumsily. I didn’t even realize I had dropped my poem book. If I had taken an X-ray then, it would have shown my stomach touching my heart, and my intestines writing “Awurade m’awu!”

She wore a long oversize polka dot shirt over blue pencil jeans. The large black belt she strapped over the shirt did more than correspond with the black dots in her shirt, it allowed her shapely figure to teasingly stand out in the otherwise casual attire.

She held her long black hair in a simple pony and other than lip gloss, she had no makeup on. But the Ginny that rendered my stiff a year and a half back, hadn’t lost even an ounce of her aesthetic glory.

I was unprepared but delighted. I was vulnerable, and had to be guarded. I had to say something, but all the energy I could muster went into keeping me together and acting as unclumsy as possible.

“Ginny?”

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2 Cupids, 1 Heart- Loving my best friend’s girl V

16 Nov

The cat napped,

The mice played.

The cat’s back,

Mice awaayyy!

*         *         *

Hehehe, my sorry attempt to say sorry :-( But is it true? that an apology is more sincere when it’s brief? Because if that’s the case paah de, then i’m sorry for the fallow period; i was re-fertilizing:-D

So here you go, the continuation of your addictively loved story (I don’t get why someone falling for his best friend’s girl piques your interest so. why is it because…lol) anyways, so from where we left off;

The more I thought about it, the more I looked forward to it; I’d see Ginny and know for sure that I was free of her haunting sweetness, of her lingering effects. Yes, this would be a liberation of sorts, and my inexplicable coldness would be needless. I could be a friend in the true sense…or I could be in for the rudest shock. I could find out that what I perceived as a complete emotional detachment was actually latent passion. Aarrrggghhhh.

These thoughts streamed through my mind as I checked in to JFK the following Thursday. My Virgin Atlantic flight was going to stop over in London and I’d be in  Ghana before the next day ended, a week before Sam was to marry Ginny. Was I ready? I don’t know.

*         *         *

My flight was smooth. By 6:45pm on Tuesday June 10th (five days before Sam’s wedding), I was sitting at the arrivals hall of the Kotoka International Airport. It was packed with Ghanaians coming home for summer and foreigners seeking oilier pastures. My head kept sticking out like a hydrogen-filled balloon, but I couldn’t see Sam.

My sorely-missed folks and Amma, my perceptive, beyond-her-years teenage sister had finally given in to waiting home for Sam to bring me before midnight. He had strongly insisted on taking me to see his new apartment in East Legon, but each minute he delayed in showing, I felt like calling Dad, or chartering a taxi. I helplessly waited, and there were few things I disliked more.

Worse was the fact that he was getting married, so he had enough get-out-of-jail-free cards to make me look bad for being upset. When 7:25pm came and he still hadn’t shown, I decided his cards were used up. I was about leaving when I heard the unmistakably sonorous voice of my best friend.

“Yo, yo yo yo waspaaappiinggg??!!!”

His demeanor was light and infectious, his smile was reminiscent of a blissful childhood, and I knew for a fact that I’d missed him. For the records, I’m not gay. In fact, I’m so straight that I could wear a g-string and still exude enough alpha-male aura to charm a nun. But when you’ve lived in a strange land for even a few months, you tend to value your childhood friends. A crowded sub-way in New York still felt lonely; everyone was invisible to everyone.

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2 Cupids, 1 Heart- Loving my best friend’s girl IV

31 Aug

“…He’s asleep o, can you imagine?…sorry I had to leave….miss you so much…couldn’t love you more than I do now…”

I cringed in the bed, it was a nightmare, and I wasn’t even asleep yet   (sigh) O life, but what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger right? Well it sucks the life out of you before it does. The events of the following weeks were spectacular. I knew if things went on like it was, I won’t be able to take it, I might do something crazy, but as to how crazy I could get, even I was unsure.

I woke up the following morning certain of one thing; I shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Ginny for too long. My loyalty was to my best friend, but when I was establishing that fact, I wasn’t privy to how unbridled passion could get. It didn’t matter if Sam thought I disliked her, it was better than he realizing that I was smitten by her. Ginny was like a slippery floor, and all I had on were flipflops, falling was an inevitability. I needed to get myself some thick rubber-sole wellington boots for her kind of floor, and I was hoping time and some distance would give it to me.

So I didn’t attend her birthday drink-up the following Friday, I used the exams as excuse. I ensured I was never  around when she came over to our room, and  I tried hard to not be around when Sam was on the phone with her. The most difficult thing to do was to walk past the Balme library and see her coming out, or play snooker at Tyme out and see her at the counter and not be able to talk to her. Why the heck hadn’t these chance meetings occurred anytime before Sam met her? Why had she been invisible to my eyes until she became unavailable? Why this redefinition of torture? Ahiaa wrong had I done in my lifetime to deserve this? What lesson did I need to learn in life that could only be taught this way? Would it have so fatally affected the grand scheme of cosmic events if I had met Ginny first? Would it? Read the rest of this entry »

 
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2 Cupids, 1 Heart- Loving my best friend’s girl III

23 Aug

Where we left off last week…

Herh, are you retrieving a phone or attending a drink-up? You are not wearing that” I said more out of hope than insistence

“Watch me” he said comically, then waltzed out the room like some front-teeth-missing kid modeling in his father’s tuxedo.

I’d never seen him like that. Sam, my Van Lutheran Sam. Rational, comported, razor-sharp intellect, good looking, tough-to-impress childhood buddy, putting up a circus for some level 200 girl, I couldn’t wait to see her.

If I’d known the kind of complications seeing her would have brought, I would not have been eager to, at all.

The Pool Escapade

As it turned out, I had to wait, for two full months to see Ginny. Something always came up. First, the inter-university sports competition that took me to Abuja for a fortnight. Then she was ill when I returned, and Sam was a worried wreck. Eventually, I resigned to a state of indifference. Secretly, I was worried that I might be disappointed when I saw her. Sam had hyped her so much that she had to smell of heaven from a mile off to fit the profile.

Two Saturdays before the end-of-sem exams started, Sam asked if I’ll be at the university’s Olympic-size pool that weekend. He was going to feature, and that was something because though he was a good swimmer, he hardly went with me, there was always something else to do. Something more pressing, something Ginny.

“Ginny wants to learn” he said

“Aha, explains it!”

He was to pick her up from the Pentagon hostel, so I’d meet them both at the pool. When I got there, it was half past mid-day, the sun was flying high and the water was clear, beautiful, and lascivious (Author’s note: yeeyy!! I finally get to use my new vocabulary.lol).

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2 Cupids, 1 Heart- Loving my best friend’s girl II

16 Aug

The story you’re about to read has attracted as much public interest  as the current UK riots, which have driven some African Heads of State to make the ludicrous offer of repatriating their citizens to a safer homeland, lol.

The truth is, if you hadn’t kept calling and writing to demand the promised sequel, this would still have been trapped in my mind. So here goes the sequel to the story of how two best friends came to love one girl.

If you don’t enjoy this story, you won’t be alone, there’re many more Marsians amongst us earthlings ;-)

Where we left off…

The thing with having an uncountable number of girls on your score sheet is that in time, it gets boring. Trust me, all the lingering pleasure and ego boosts that comes from being a ladies’ man is very much temporal. At a point, it becomes routine, and the awareness that you’re a twenty-something year old guy walking around with an SSS graduate’s mindset kicks in hard. So hard you could get sucked in self-pity and disappointment about how wasted your life looks in retrospect. My kick-in came in at the worst time possible, the time Sam met Ginny. And this is where the story really begins…

A few weeks before Sam met Ginny, I’d gotten to a point where I wasn’t looking forward to when the next batch of freshers were arriving so I could make my pick. I wasn’t eager to pick the numerous calls that came through every day from girls of so many different nationalities that we could have formed some perverted kind of UN general ASSembly. Slowly and subtly, I began resenting that kind of life. I was the victim, the man whore, the gigolo, the booty call. All my friends had found meaningful relationships. One day Bob (another good friend of mine) told me Ajoa –his babe- spent the night in his room. The whole night they stayed up talking, TALKING!!! Some time back I’ll have teased and laughed, but that day, I wept within. It was clear that at the end of the day I had countless sex mates, but no one to go back home to, and that my friend, is a very sad conclusion to reach.

I was in our L 21 Legon Hall inner room watching a movie on my laptop when Sam entered wearing a smile broader than his shoulders and more colorful than a summer shirt. Ideally, he would have waited for me to get too curious to keep mute, then teased before letting the cat out of the bag, but not so this time. This time, he couldn’t wait, he just spilled it.

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Your Boyfriend’s User Manual- the sequel

07 Jul

Ok people, this’ just a head’s up; My boss’ boss just became a fan of Goldinwords o. So that marks the end of all boss-lashings for us. If you’ve got any boss-bashing comment, inbox instead (said in whispers). lol, Sed’s cool, he knows what’s up and identifies himself as ‘young at heart’.

So on to the main course, shall we?

Your response to the first part of this post blew the roof off my expectations. This sequel is way overdue. I’m kick-starting this, by stating a hard fact. Your boy could be with you either because you’re generous with your body, he’s too lazy to start a new relationship after half a decade of being with you, he was there when your single father died tragically, so leaving you’ll be heartless. Or because he loves you dearly and wants to spend the rest of his life with you. It is possible to work your way up to the latter.

For starters, build memories. Build beautiful memories that’ll permanently etch you in his mind, even if he wills it not to. Do silly outlandish things once in a while. In F.R.I.E.N.D.S, Monica shows up in Chandler’s apartment wearing a thanksgiving turkey on her head and dancing to an Indian song. Find out what makes him laugh and do something to induce it. If you can, do several things to induce it, because there are times when a laughter-inducing memory becomes a rare gem. With me, I love accents, so when we do role plays and I’m the Ashanti bogger introducing you as my Chinese wife to my conservative family, and you do that funny forced-Chinese accent, you could crack me up big time. It shouldn’t be as often as the day comes though, that ruins it.

Few guys wear their hearts on their sleeves, but some things really touch us. Right now, I’ll tell you one thing that’ll touch even a brick-hearted guy to the core. If he calls you in the middle of the night (preferably) or sometime during the day and asks you the infamous ‘What’re-you-doing’ question and you answer “Praying hun,I was praying for you”. Myyy goosshhh!!! That’s a slam dunk! Praying for me? Of all the things you could be doing, you’re praying for my future and wellbeing? How unselfish and wifely of you, do I even deserve you??!

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Other Girls’ Boyfriends & Other Women’s Husbands

21 Jun

The story behind this poem is too scandalous for me to utter, but as you read, things will piece together. Rita Arthur has strung the most fitting cluster of words to address something we’re all either victims or culprits of. By how smoothly this enjoyable piece reads, you’ll find that describing her writing as prolific will be merely stating a fact.

This week is Feature Week here on Goldinwords and this is Rita’s first time here, and miiinnnee, what a way to kick things off!!! So enough of my blabbering, I’m handing Rita Arthur the microphone and informing you to brace up; this might just blow your mind!

Other Girls’ Boyfriends And Other Women’s Husbands

Other girls’ boyfriends

And other women’s husbands

Guys who claim to be caught up in

Complicated situations.

Please leave me alone.

 

I do not need or want the guilt that comes with the pain when

Because of the other you all to quickly walk away.

The feeling of disappointment when you cancel our appointment

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Your Boyfriend’s User Manual

14 Jun

Last year, I wrote a piece titled ‘The Science of Keeping Your Man- if you want to’, well this is the rejoinder.

The guy you’re with is human. By that very fact, he’s only as complicated as a game of chess, if not less. Keeping him is really about knowing how and when to play your cards, and that brings me to my first apor (tip); the card stash.

From the day you agree to be his girl, or he agrees to be yours (depending on which side of the world you’re reading from) both of you receive an invisible deck of cards. They’re like ‘get-out-of-jail-free’ cards, and they’re limited, so I wonder why you misuse yours so. Depending on the guy you’re with, and how crazy he was about you when you started out, you might have received a hundred or a dozen, either ways wise usage is key.

If you keep going ooon and oooonnnn about something he’s already apologized for, you’ve used one, and established yourself as a nagger. If you see a suggestive text on his phone and go berserk, throw tantrums and verbally abuse him, only to find out that it was actually from his sister –who wanted advice before sending it to her boy-, you’ve used five.

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I Love Her Husband V- the epilogue

02 Jun

For a FREE copy of the electronic book format of this short story, you can click here; –>>http://www.keepandshare.com/doc/2830408/i-love-her-husband-pdf-may-25-2011-4-46-pm-334k?da=y 

Where we left off last week… 

Kobe was bursting into the restaurant at the time Trixy was walking out. They stood in each other’s way for melting moments. Trixy tried hard to keep her smile, but her tear-stained face spoke volumes. 

“Love you Kobe.” she kissed his cheek, the half a dozen diners felt the tension, and it told in their unnatural silence “Good bye.” Not see you later, What kind of a man are you? Or How could you do this to me…but Good bye. She didn’t add ‘for good’ but it lingered in her silence, and in how she turned and walked out the door. 

*          *          * 

Kobe caught up with his wife in the parking lot, but her reflexive rigidity when he tried to touch her, to reason out his unredeemable stupidity, the sternness in her eyes, the coldness in her “leave me alone”, all culminated in rendering him speechless. Like a stooge he stood by as the Honda Civic faded into two red brake lights as it revved into the distance of the windy Saturday evening. 

When he reentered the restaurant, Samaa was sitting in the same position, her hand cupping her mouth, as if holding back the wrath of God. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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I Love Her Husband IV- the showdown

26 May

Where we left off last week;

….But she didn’t fret too much, Melting Moments was ten minutes away from her Cantonments home. She quickly took her shower but carefully picked her outfit. It had to be casual, but classy. It had to be decent, but subtly slutty. It had to speak volumes, but retain enough secrets to pique interest.

She eventually settled for an Olive-green Charlotte Russe plaid dress which featured an all over plaid print, spaghetti straps, V neckline with solid contrast picot trim, and elastic smocking at the empire waist. She could have worn it by itself, but chose to wear it over black leggings. When she looked in the mirror, her reflection clapped for itself.

She grabbed her green Gucci clutch and bulleted out of the house to meet Kobe sunshine…or so she thought. But you see, he hadn’t sent the text -the man was sleeping like a log at home. It was his wife who had. Enough was enough, she’d decided. It was time she met her husband’s mistress, this one had stuck around longer than the rest.

*             *             *

I Love Her Husband- the Showdown

Melting moments wasn’t Samaa’s favorite restaurant only because of proximity –Chick’n Lickin was just a street from her house. It was the exclusivity of the petite eatery, its homely red brick walls, its well-groomed waiters, the heavenly-made croissants, and how its crusty deliciousness lingered like a strong perfume. There were only four tables inside the restaurant, then three more on the porch –only one was available presently.

The view wasn’t extraordinary, not unless you had a thing for fancy cars –loads of them plied that Cantonment road, and through clear glass floor-to-ceiling windows, Samaa counted nine Camrys, seven BMWs, three Touaregs, and two Ranges. As the evening wore on and the sun receded behind the privacy of thick grey clouds, a coolness enveloped the atmosphere, in the way it does minutes before a rainfall.

Samaa fidgeted with the salt-and-pepper shakes on her table-for-two and glanced at her thin green-strapped wrist watch. It was 4:55pm and Kobe had still not showed up. She hated waiting, to be the one with nothing more important to do, to appear so needy, like some groupie. Her mind started feeding itself with all the needless, baseless implications of what Kobe’s lateness could mean. Unamused, she took out her Samsung Corby from the Gucci clutch and speed-dialed Kobe’s number.
She cut the line after the second ring. She hadn’t meant to ‘flash’ him, but just when the dial tone came up, she’d felt she was overreacting. It wasn’t like she hadn’t kept him waiting before, in fact, on one occasion, she hadn’t showed up at all, so well, she could let this one pass. If she had persisted and allowed the phone to continue ringing, a sleepy Kobe would have picked up and made flirty comments about how funny it was that she walked out of his dream, into his life. Eventually, she decided to send a text message, one with an even mixture of reservation and lightness.

I’VE BEEN WAITING KOBE, FOR 30 MINS. YOU KNOW HOW PATHETIC SITTING ALONE IN A RESTAURANT CAN BE…EVEN @MM. QUICK MY KNIGHT, COME SAVE ME :-/

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I Love Her Husband III-the reason why

17 May

Where we left off last week;

If the phone had a chord she would have been twirling it absentmindedly like a love-stricken naive teenager. Aarggh, the things this married man did to her. Even he didn’t know exactly how much he had gotten through to her. His voice tickled her, his smell teleported her, his touch gravitated her and when he took her, none of her was left behind.

Small wonder she was unable to open up about it to Efe, how much more Shika? It was like waking up one morning and seeing a stolen diamond necklace around your neck. One that elevated you to ethereal heights, but still was a stolen jewel. But you decide to wear it under high-neck tops, unable to give it up, though aware of the wrongness in keeping it. She had broken the unspoken rule; fallen in love with another woman’s husband. Her guilty pleasures, her bitter-sweetness, her stolen diamond necklace, her Kobe.

But she couldn’t have known, that her previous twenty-three text messages had been intercepted by Mrs. Amankwah. She couldn’t have known that her lover’s wife had created a false facebook account and befriended both her husband and his mistress. She couldn’t have known the plan the scorned woman had concocted…waiting for her to arrive, to return to Accra. If only she did…

*             *             *

I Love Her Husband- the reason why

The arrival hall of the Kotoka International Airport was congested as Samaa entered it. She was one of a countless multicolored multitude of humans leaving, arriving, waiting for or escorting people. The Christmas season did that; bringing home boggers from the UK, USA, Libya and everywhere in-between.

It was only December 2nd, but the mood and ambience could easily have passed for a 23rd or 24th even. When the ubiquitous airport speakers weren’t blaring flight information from a faceless nice-sounding lady, they were playing Jingle Bells or ‘Oh Holy Night’ tunes. Decorative balls and thin shiny banners decorated the hall, but the center-piece was a humongous ornamented Christmas tree in the center of the hall. It even had a few wrapped boxes at its feet.

Shee, Ghana go high-tech o. she thought to herself as she waited for the carousel to spit out her luggage. When she looked behind through the glass doors and saw a cluster of people with placards bearing the names of unknown people they were coming to fetch, or the other expectant faces who knew who they were waiting for and were doing so anxiously, she felt a weird sense of loneliness –both her parents were in the States with her younger brother. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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I Love Her Husband II

11 May

Where we left off last week; 

So gidigidi, he dressed up, planted a kiss on my cheek and dashed out. Later when the lights came on and I was going to take my shower, I realized that his boxers were still on the floor at the foot of the bed where he’d dropped it. I didn’t think much of it till I realized that I couldn’t see my favorite pink panty too. You know the one with the cute flower drawings.”

“OOOOO MMYYY GGOOOODDD!!!” Efe exclaimed.

“Whaat, whaat whaat?” Samaa asked, not having got it yet. Then her subconscious put the dots together and her eyes widened. She clasped her hand over her mouth “I don’t believe this! You’ve gotto be kidding me Shikky!!!! ”

“Ooo no sweedy. You know me, I don’t do kidding or kids”

“So what happened?” Efe pressed on “Did you follow him, did he realize it? Are you late because you’re coming from the mortuary?”

I Love Her Husband II

“You remember back when you were in the choir and you went  to visit that choirmaster you were crushing on but ended up having your first sexual experience?” Shika asked Samaa, who nodded uncomfortably.

“You remember how worried you were about getting pregnant and all that, even though he used protection?”

“O, what does that have to do with this?”

“Well that’s exactly how I felt Sammy. Worried, anxious, perplexed, agonized…”

“inspired, intellectualized…” Efe said cutting in

“What?” Shika asked confused

“Well, whatever’s driven you to use such impressive vocabulary must have done some intellectual inspiration too.”

Samaa laughed, Shika kissed her teeth “Gellaway, you tease junkie”

“Did Honorable’s wife see him in your draws?” Efe asked

“You ruin the fun with such direct questions.”

“Then be quick abah. You’re breaking one story into more parts than Police Academy had.”

Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Girl Ronning Disorder -the plight of a Christian ‘broda’

26 Apr

It’s too much. Christian gentlemen are losing the fight for the loves of their lives too often. The guy who commands legions of demons to flee in his coarse baritone ‘kabeying’ voice, is weakened by the disarming sight of the one woman who makes his heart crawl. Yet, he’s incapable of winning her affection. Whhhhyyyyy brodas, whhhyyyy? (In a hoarse, baritone voice)

At prayer meetings, he watches and prays only so he can catch a glimpse of her, communicating with their mutual papa. When it’s time to share the grace, he strategically locates himself only so he’ll get to hold her hand and feel the soft endearing texture of her palms (the only times he gets to). He’s constantly reminded that he’s human by the strong currents that flood him when she smiles his way. Then he’s drowned in hurt and discouragement as he watches the suave guy who comes to church once in a while step into her personal space and pull her in for a tight embrace.

Most of my friends are gorgeous, breathtaking, virtuous ladies who’re similar to food fried with frytol in the sense that they’re like meals worth coming home to. They let me see their text messages and tell me the most unbelievably hilarious stories about how some Christian ‘broda’ went about his wooing. “Why” I usually blurt “would he say that??!!” Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Guest Contributer Joshua Amoah; Making Out- Nuggets of My Thoughts

14 Feb

When I first decided to read this note, it was out of obligation; Joshua reads all my blabbering and calls to commend me on the ones he likes the most. Then I saw the title, and thought it was universal and intriguing enough, then I read it and knew that it was a must read, not just for the thirty people who were tagged, but for everyone who’d like perspective on making out.

It’s rich, loaded and conversative. If my opinion counts for anything, then brace up!

RATING: This piece is rated ”as-long-as-you-care-enough-to-know-why-this-note-is-titled-making-out.”

YOU SHOULD KNOW: If you are married, all the talk about whether making-out is right or not by God’s standard doesn’t apply to you-that is only if you do it with your legally wedded spouse(of the opposite sex, I should add)

Ok. Now that that’s out of the way (I don’t want any trouble with any censorship board. not today. not ever.lol),

If you’re reading this, chances are; you’ve never made out before, or are making out but want a second opinion on it, given that it’s hardly(if ever) discussed in many public circles. But if you are, definitely take the time to read on and lemme know what you think about this matter we’ve turned into a “ghost topic”.

Personally, I think that Christian circles don’t force koraaaaa when it comes to subjects like this, and it’s killing us. I don’t know if we don’t talk about it because everyone is afraid of what aspects of their lives might be revealed during such discussions (You know? how people go like “eeeeeiiiii, so you too you’ve been doing it” in their heads, because of the thoughts we share-or do not share). Or if it’s because we think it doesn’t happen among “Christians” (Which would be nothing less than fooling ourselves.), or because we are just playing “no talk, no guilt” with ourselves. Hmmm.

Anyway, a very good friend of mine asked me what I thought about making out, and here it is,you’re your viewing pleasure: Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Love & Sanguinity-Injected with a truth serum.

03 Feb

Hmmn, charley nsem piiii o. This is about the most difficult post I’ve written, because it opens me up…small, and that kind of makes me feel vulnerable. That’s understandable right? Did you know that your temperament –to a very great extent- influences how you act in your relationship? It permeates the frequency with which you want to be with your partner and how often you say those three majic magic (always spell that word wrong) words; I love you. How do I know? On the job training and a discerning diagnosis. Vague huh, lemme explain.

There’s a danger in misconstruing your actions and preferences as normal by everyone’s standard. I was like that.

  • I base the intensity of my friendships not on how often we talk, but by how easy it is for us to pick up where we left off and how long we keep at it when we do. I’m not the frequent-caller type. I’ll call, I will, but there won’t ever come a time when you’ll see my call and say “Aarrgghh Ben againnnn???!!”
  • I’d like that when we spoke, that it would really count. So if it’s just about the weather or whether or not you took Coke today instead of sprite, forgellaboutit.
  • It’s not that I easily and quickly get tired of the same company. Moderation is the key here. We can keep going and going, talking two hours every day, but to what end? Till it becomes routine and you base your assessment of our failing friendship on fewer hours of talk time?
  • I hate those times in a convo when both of us have nothing to say, and in order to avoid that gnawing, tense dead silence I desperately have to clutch on the first thought that comes to mind so we have something to talk about. So out of nowhere you’ll have me asking “Ei, so do you think Kufuor is a virgin??!!” loll, imagine that.
  • I hate conversations that are like classic old plays where everyone knows their lines and says the same things all the time. Like say you see me at the mall, we weren’t friends back in uni, and you could very well pass by, or just say hi without doing any damage, but you have to come over and say; (the stuff in bracket are what I’m actually thinking) Read the rest of this entry »
 
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