Short Dresses Attract Rape.

Tweneboah

Dear Madam Otiko Djaba,

I saw a video once where tea was used as an analogy to illustrate the giving of consent. I found it quite apt so I’ll attempt to narrate it now with my own additions:

– If you offer someone a cup of tea and they say no, don’t make them tea.

– If they say “not sure” to the offer, don’t make them any tea until they say yes.

– If they are too drunk or incoherent to say yes or no to the offer, don’t make them any tea.

– If they turn up at your house with a sexy, attractive empty mug looking like they are asking for tea, don’t assume they want tea until they say yes to an offer for tea.

Now substitute sex for tea. It’s really quite simple; if the answer is no, then you do not have consent to…

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Mood

Untitled 1

*blows dust of mic* I know I know. It has been over a year since the last post. I apologize. My excuses *cough cough* consist of the usual work, school, lack of time, overly busy variety. Forgive and forget? Arigato!!!! Enjoy the post (I hope). Oh and anyone  who can suggest a good title will be much appreciated.

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A lone wolf could be heard howling at the full moon in the distance. The eerie sound sent a shiver down Brother John’s spine despite the warmth of the numerous candles which lit up the spacious hut. Numerous trinkets and other artefacts hang from the crudely painted walls but none of them interested John as much as the man who was standing in front of them. This was the hut of the Chief Priest of Ile Ife and Brother John had brought his last son to be diagnosed by the Priest, Amalinze.

He laughed inwardly at the irony of the situation he found himself in. Just last month he had been preaching at the Pillar of God church against those who consulted with witch doctors for solutions to their problems but these were desperate times. When one lost two of one’s children to the same mysterious disease and the last one falls ill with the same symptoms desperation sets in. More so when doctors had no idea of the illness or its cure and all prayers to God Almighty had seemingly fallen on deaf ears. He had resisted the temptation to come see Amalinze the Priest until Isaac had also fallen ill. Then he knew he would try everything to save his son and one remaining child.

A sudden burst of chanting from Amalinze who had been silently chewing kola nut and staring at cowries in his palm whilst bent over the shivering body of Isaac snapped John out of his thoughts. “Ebununu amaari ose mi nkaso. The Almighty is not pleased. Ise lai sommi kenamowo. For he who sows seeds at night forgets that he cannot hide a fully grown tree.”

Amalinze threw some powder into the flames causing it to burn brighter and hotter for a few seconds before it resumed its peaceful blaze. He fixed a deathly stare at John his eyes the color of blue fire and in a voice that echoed and seemed to fill the whole cave he spoke, “Ijona Okonkwo, son of this land who has chosen to be refered to as John”, Amalinze practically spat the Christian name out, “this is what the gods of Ile Ife say. You are the cause of the misfortune that has afflicted your family and taken root in your compound. For the toad who heeds not the warning of the serpent shall surely be swallowed”.

John felt his wife recoil away from him immediately. “Me?? What have I…”.

“Silence!” Amalinze’s voice filled the hut. “You have taken from the Almighty to fill your belly and that of your children. This death that chases you and your family around like a cock on heat that has spotted a hen is the punishment for your deeds. You took from the Almighty and now the Almighty takes from you. There is no cure only one solution. Your son shall be sick for two more weeks. You must confess in front of the council of elders of your church in exactly two weeks. They shall pray for your son and if The Almighty finds it right to forgive you and have mercy your son shall be healed. Otherwise…..”

Amalinze sat cross legged on the floor and murmured to himself for a bit with his eyes closed. Brother John was unsure whether the session was over and what to do next. His wife was still standing in shock behind him processing what the Chief Priest had just said. Suddenly Amalinze’s eyes flew open, “What are you waiting for you betrayers of the gods of your father? Leave my presence before I turn you into half cooked eggs”. Brother John needed no further motivation. With his son on his back and his wife hot on his heels he fled into the night.

Public Service Announcement

Hey guys.

So I haven’t written in a while (sincerest apologies) but I’ve decided to pick up my pen again and start (or restart) posting regularly.

Also got an interesting project (or 2) in mind plus an interesting co-written story with the creative Mr. Asante.

Thanked for listening

*End of public service announcement*

“Taboos” by Antony Can-Tamakloe.

Flash Fiction Ghana

Dela tried as much as possible not to make any noise at all. He found himself in an awkward position, but there was nothing he could do about it. You know how sound travelled far in the forest at night. It was very dark. In fact the only way he was able to see the two culprits at all was by the reflection of the moon’s dim light on the sacred river. Despite his predicament Dela grinned, beside himself with elation. He had finally caught them red-handed. The Chief Priest and that his dirty minion, Agbeko. When the other villagers heard what he, Dela, had to tell them, they would change his name from Dela The No-Good Gossip to Dela The Hero. Or Dela The Saviour. He really couldn’t decide yet. Neither was he picky, so far as the current nickname was changed.

The Chief Priest barked an order and…

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“Oedipal” by Andrew Teye.

Flash Fiction Ghana

Each of us wore a frown on our faces. Each of us had legitimate reasons to be angry. But her frown was different. It had more wrinkles and it formed a more visible web on her brow. But, yes, each of us had legitimate reasons to be angry.

I had been nearing Stage Five of Tetris on my hand me down Nokia when she barged into my room in her work clothes, barking about me just lazing about and doing nothing all-day while the chickens ate up the beans she had left outside to dry in the sun. We had also run out of gas, and if only I had tried to boil the Kontomire like she had told me to, I would have realised this. She yelled out my charges for ten minutes straight; a new recent record. I held my tongue for ten minutes straight but there was…

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50 YEARS OF GREATNESS

“You have been chosen to be great amongst your generation”
Those were the thoughts she conveyed to my mind 
Promising me I was one of a kind 
Her kind voice easily recognizable
She was my champion, my guide 
And I was invisible by her side 
Protected by her shield, she was shelter in the rain 
Shelter from the pain 
In her shadow I stood, protected from the sun’s rays 
In her shadow I played, safe from enemy advances 

As time went on I detached myself
Awareness of things I should and shouldn’t know fed my curiosity 
I sometimes strayed too far from her shadow 
But rather than drag me back and rebuke me
She gave me leeway
Aware that some lessons are best learnt in person 
Yet she was there whenever I needed her 
When the world won a round and sent me scampering back
She’d welcome me with open arms and balms for the bruises 
And when I won a round, as few as I won, she’d wait and celebrate with me 
And revel in my victory 

Now I’m older and think myself wiser 
I stray farther and stay longer 
Sometimes challenge ur wisdom 
Discuss issues more and more like your equal 
But I’ll never be your equal 
For you existed before me 
And I came into existence via your existence 
I am eternally grateful for all you have done 
All the sacrifices and bruises from the battles you fought on my behalf 
The bruises from the ones I know you will still fight 
And I am safe in the knowledge 
That even if I stray the farthest away 
Ride off into the sunset horse and carriage
Or falter in terms of my courage 
You will forever be present 
Be it to teach or encourage
To rebuke or chastise 
Forever present like the supermum you are 
Happy birthday mum. 
50 never be joke 

Our Birthday

Dear Osaa,

It’s been a year since u said yes
A year of joys and a year of tears
A year of assurances against our fears
Fears that we wouldn’t survive the test of time
Often worried that we’d have to settle for a trial by combat
Our only crime to fall in love
Our only penance, to stay in love

It’s been a year since u said yes
A year of pushing and pulling
Arguments and make ups
Frowns and smiles, hisses and kisses
Some days we wonder if it’s meant to be
If we are meant to set sail
To ride out the waves of this sea called love
Constant with its turbulent storms
Battered on all sides
Yet ur love remained, perfect in its form
After all what’s a rose without its thorns

It’s been a year since u said yes
Funny how a three letter word brought so much joy
Which is itself another three letter word
Happiness fit to resurrect the dead
A joy that filled me with dread
Questioning if I really deserved u
For surely a mere mortal like myself had no business with extra-terrestrial beauty

It’s been a year since u said yes
And I promise u I still want to give my best
Stand beside u and dab u for tests
Protect u, be ur bullet-proof vest
Because I’ve search north south east and west
And I’m sure u are the best
Last couple of lines were a bit corny
Probably cos I’m writing at 4 in the morning
But it’s been a year since u said yes
So this is looking forward to the next year
And to let u know, thanks for last year

XOXO
Kwaku

BANKER TO BANKER

Two posts in one week. I think I’m catching the writing bug again. Weather is terrible, harmattan and all. Ghana is Ghana. Football boots are now GH¢85 at kantamanto (signs of the Apocalypse). Still though if you are reading this please try to be at Soccer Lounge III on the 28^th of December at Astros Sports Centre, Dzorwulu. All monies collected will be donated to an orphanage. Fun and games towards a worthy cause. Now to today’s post.

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The tension in the room was palpable. The look on Mr. Asante’s face was enough to let his 3 children know that for their own safety absolute silence was a sudden requirement. “….. 5, 87, 70, 17 and 51. Those are the winning numbers for the Monday Special national Lotto.”

A slow grin started to pull at the corners of Mr. Asante’s usually firmly set mouth. Joy started to color his always stern face. All of a sudden he erupted. “Ma wiiiiinnnnniiiiiiiiiiii ooooooohhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.” He had waited years for this moment, burnt through countless lotto calculation papers and worked more maths than the whole actuarial science faculty in KNUST. And finally, finally he had struck gold. He had won, beaten the system. GH¢500,000 all his. Poverty was no longer his portion.

That was 6 months ago. Mr. Asante had burnt through the money so fast by the time he thought of saving some there was nothing to save. He had actually managed to overspend into the meager savings he had before he won the lotto. Party after party, sponsoring the boys at various pubs and clubs accompanied with assorted drinks and meat (Mr. Nigel Amegatcher’s term) sprees. The good life had been short lived and he was back to poverty again.

The End.

 

Well not quite. You might be wondering what the story above has to do with anything (that is if you haven’t figured it out already). I always found the subject of lotto and betting intriguing. Not least because the odds always seem to be skewered against the person who places the wager. A bit of mathematics then, if u were to bet on a rolling die your odds of winning on one roll will be 1 out of 6. Your odds of losing, on the other hand, 5 out of 6. See my point. No? Okay.

In the national lottery, to hit a jackpot you need 6 numbers out of a possible 99. That’s a 6.060606% ad infinitum chance of winning. That gives the you a 93.9393% ad infinitum chance of losing.

Now to make my point, I see people stake lotto on a daily basis. From “Sure banker” to “2 Sure” to “Banker to Banker” and the likes. These same people will tell you Ghana is hard and there is no money in the system. Now I am not a maths genius (except core maths in which I’m a boss *insert sunglasses wearing smiley*) but lets do some more maths. There are roughly 230 working days on the Ghanaian calendar (this is an estimate I beg. This is for hypothetical purposes only). For the ardent lotto man who stakes on a daily basis, assuming a minimum of GH¢1 a day, that’s GH¢230 in a year. That may not seem like a lot but consider the person who has been staking lotto for 10 years plus. That’s GH¢2300 and we haven’t even added the cost of the lotto working sheets.

But all this was prevalent a couple of years ago. There’s a new trend now (menace or opportunity depending on which side of the line you are on), that of casinos and sports betting companies. Personally I pay no mind to them but I noticed a lot of my friends and acquaintances are dabbling in it. I understand them though. Most of us spend some time predicting score outlines of matches so why not wager a bit and get paid for it in the process?

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to force you to accept my beliefs and principals, far from that actually. After all “to each his own” and we are all adults. I’m just saying what I think. And I’m not saying all those who win jackpots waste them and return to square one. There are some instances (though few and far between) of people who actually win jackpots and use it to better their life. However it must be known that Lady Luck is a fickle mistress capable of desertion without prior notice. And free money has a tendency to disappear.

Well makasa aky3. I sincerely hope there was some semblance of sense in all that and that the appropriate authorities place some sort of regulation on these gaming houses to prevent exploitation of people especially the underage kids around.

And to my betting friends, when the day comes that PSG, Man Madrid, Juventus and Manchester United (though unlikely right now) help you hit the jackpot please remember to call me when its time to chill. After all no money is sweeter that free money.

Your Friendly Neighborhood Lotto Doctor

Kwaku Ayisa

THE ART OF CATCHING FISH

It has been a long time. I am truly sorry *bows head in shame*. I wish I had a foolproof excuse as to why but I don’t. The honest truth is I have been lazy and a rut I hit left me with half stories in my head which I kept getting stuck on halfway. I promise to work harder and have a story for you guys by next week. For now tho here’s something to ponder about.

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I once heard somewhere or rather read, can’t seem to remember which it was, that “It is better to teach a hungry man how to fish rather than to give him fish”. These sentiments have been echoed by Jiqqa himself, who apart from being a rapper owns interests in quite a number of businesses, implying some semblance of truth in the statement. I have come to agree with this after some much deserved thought myself. This is explained as if you keep giving someone fish the person will just become dependent on you and on the day you don’t have any fish the person will go hungry.  However if you teach said person to fish, the person becomes self reliant and can thus survive without you.

You may all be wondering what my raving in the previous chapter is about and why I am explaining obvious proverbs. In the past month and half or so I have walked past the supreme court of Ghana on my way to my posting as a humble National Service Personnel each morning. I walk past a man who uses clutches who greets me in an attempt to solicit for alms. I have resorted to turning up the volume of my music in order to not hear him and as such not trouble my conscience by ignoring him intentionally.

Now before some of you accuse me of being evil, not having feelings and seeing his plight allow me to explain myself. Day after day I see a multitude of beggars roam the streets of Accra. Some look genuinely physically disabled. Others look fine. Some are our own people whilst others are from foreign lands some of us have never been to. I’m sure there are a multitude of different and similar stories as to how they ended up there. Now I ask this, does the continuous giving of alms to them actually help them?? Or it just gives them a meal from day to day??

Reason for all this is I once saw a physically disabled man in one of their vehicles (the one that looks like a tricycle with hand operated pedals). I was so impressed by what I saw that I started to question the excuse some of these so called beggars have for roaming the street. He had draped his “vehicle” with banners and stickers of the various network service providers. Wearing a distinctive MTN vest he was pedaling through traffic selling credit. I realized at that point in time that no matter how desperate your situation there was always something that you can do about it if you were willing to try.

Now take note I’m not saying that don’t give alms or that beggars don’t have a right to be there. I’m just sharing the thoughts that entered my head. Give alms if your heart tells you to, I know I will. I’m just saying that it is sometimes better to teach people to fish rather than to give them fish.

Kwaku Ayisa,

Aspiring fisherman