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Dream

of peculiar flowers/like sound of laughter/fluid in words you could spell/only after lettering down/libations on territories/virgin with mystic bites/of your footsteps/creating gardens/of hope beyond tales

Thursday, May 2, 2013

Not Love



It was the line both kindness and idiocy shared—that was what confused our meetings. I took my action for kindness and she saw idiocy, the kind imposed by love. A love that didn’t exist between us, at least not until I said “I could easily love her…” and she told everybody I had said that and in her mind we were in some kind of a relationship already. What she didn’t know was that my ‘idiocy’ extended to everyone else in that same measure. So, I became a flirt and unfaithful in her manic eyes. She needed me to be hers. I cared as deeply for women less beautiful, less educated, and less complicated as she and that offended her. If she could make me crave her and only her, then maybe then will be the time to dump me in our imaginary relationship. It was all confusing, this woman and what she was doing in my life or me in hers.

She complained if I called often, she cried when I didn’t. I was wrong in every action I took, until I decided I would let her have what she wanted but she didn’t want anything from me. That was what she said when I asked her, “nothing.”

“Then you should have no use for me,” I said.

“What do you mean? How about me, don’t you want anything from me? Don’t you want me in your life?”

“Actually…”

Before I could finish my sentence, she had grabbed me by the arm and thrown me on her chest. I had no idea, she was that strong. Why did she act so girly for someone bearing such strength? If she could pull me, and I was twice as heavy as her, why did she scream in a high-pitched voice when she saw a wall gecko? Her lips were pressed hard on mine. All adults should have “don’t stop” in their vocabulary and it should belong to the ‘overly used words’ bit of the vocabulary. That was what I was thinking but,

“stop, what are you doing?!”

Is what came out of my mouth instead, I know I am such a jellyfish. The good thing is that she didn't stop.
She tried to push me on her couch but she missed. My ass hit hard on the floor before my head did. The sound of my head crashing to her tiled living room floor must have echoed in the neighbor’s flat. She pounced on me with a giggle and tore my shirt open.

“I’ll fuck you and make you mine.” She said.

I was in some sort of a twilight zone at that point; her voice sounded ten blocks away. I could feel the moist from the back of my head. I knew I had cut my skin, I could smell blood. I finally lifted my hand to touch hers on my chest and that is all I can remember.

According to her, everything I have just told you is made up. She didn't kiss me, ‘she would never do that without my permission’. She couldn't push me to the ground, where was she going to get that kind of strength from?

I had come to her flat with milk she had requested for. I had brought one for myself and was drinking from the bottle when I got there. I spilled my milk and in rush to get a mob, I slipped and fell. That was her story.

Maybe the fall has affected the way my memory, she said. I knew she was lying but it was my word against hers, right? And I had no plans of telling anybody anyway, especially my girlfriend. I had promised my girlfriend I was never going to see this woman anymore. So why was I sending her milk? If I wasn't sending her milk as I remember of what happened, what was I doing there?
She was sitting by my bedside holding my hands. Her’s were sweaty. I asked her to go, she said she wouldn't go. My girlfriend had called that she was on her way over. We needed a good story to tell before she got here.

“I got a phone call from you, your stomach was upset and you were dehydrated. You asked me to get you pills from the pharmacy. When I got to you house, you had puked all over, I didn't see it, I slipped and fell, hitting my head hard to the ground.”
“But that’s not true,” she said.

“Nobody knows the truth. That is what we are going to say.”

"Is your girlfriend an idiot? She will know I haven’t been sick, look at me, do I look sick to you?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?" I asked taking my hand from her sweaty hands.

"Why don’t you just tell her the truth?"

"What truth? I am lactose intolerant; I don’t take milk. I will not be caught drinking milk especially in the afternoon. We both know your story is fiction."

“Baby, are you okay?” My girlfriend walks in and hugs me on the hospital bed.

“oh my god I was so worried when you weren't picking up my calls, are you okay, are you going to be okay, what happened?” she hadn't yet said a word to her.

“I slipped and broke a little skin at the back of my head, nothing to worry about.”

“Oh my god where?”

“the back of my head”

“no, I mean where did you slip?”

“Oh by the road side, I was buying phone credit and she called me, pointing at the unwanted guest in the room, I was trying to jump the gutter to say hello to her at the other side of the road and I slipped on a pure water sachet.

“Aw, my poor baby, I am so sorry, what are the doctors saying?”

"I lost a little blood but I’ll live."

“Hi, thanks for being here for us, but you can go now, I’m sure you would like to rest” she finally spoke to the other human being in the room.

“You don’t have to say thanks, it was my fault in a way, if I didn't ask for the milk… I mean the phone credit, there would have been no falling into the gutter”

“Baby, you fell into a gutter?”

“No, yes, I mean I don’t remember”

“oh my poor baby, are you hurt anywhere else apart from your head?”

“yeah, I hit my ass hard on the tile”

“Which tile?”

“I mean the tarred road, I am a bit confused about the whole thing now, my love, I am not sure exactly what happened I am just happy you are here.”

“I know” she leaned in a kissed me.

She tried to button up my shirt but there were no buttons left on to work with.

“what happened to your shirt?”

I looked at her and she looked at her.

We knew she knew.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Stank with Sweat





The brave face
I wear is never washed
It stinks with sweat
my mother’s and mine
She taught me how to put it on
to fit my wobbly bones
to be the face that you would know
My brave face
has a smile
it lasts for thirty seconds
and plays back after a minute
My brave face
belongs to my family
I owe it to them
and to my children
the ones I planned to have with you
But you think I do not feel
You should see my eyes buttoned on
my brave face
my brows frown like a powerless child
to remind you that
I am tough
I can show you my face now
how it’s stained with blood
And you would realize
my brave face is what you want to love

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

In the middle of my body



The thing that sets me free is caged
covered with skin and breastbone
The thing that sets me free is sore
overworked, stretched beyond today
and when it beats I feel the past
and when I sleep it runs without me
My heart won’t stop
Going places without my charge
Tattooing names in her pulse
Controlling my mind
Moving my feet
Showing me smiles in the face of pain
My heart is sore and I can’t touch it,
maybe you should.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

A new relationship



I’ve gotten too close to my tears
It misses me and comes out to see me
when I’m eating
when I’m sleeping
when I’m fucking

I’ve gotten too close to my tears
It leaves trails on my skin
so I won’t forget it
It wets my memory with pain
Two rivers running down my cheeks
I can’t swim, I can’t drown, I can’t stay dry
It floods my heart with ache

I have become my tears
It’s all I have to show
It’s everything I feel
It’s the end I see


My tears have taken over
my body my heart my being
I died yesterday
When my tears got closer than you
stayed longer than you
was more sincere than you
slept with me and not you
I am not here anymore

Thursday, November 15, 2012

The 7th December Palm wine






Natural valleys appear like mountains
for party men who reach to greet feet of busy hands
when thumps are the flags that move out, in, or onward

Our memories leap in the air as indelible liberty
wanes in the space from one to four
but the right to lie, to deny and to beg is again ingrained

We forget daughters and sons who balloted with a modest proposal to count
in matters of bills and policies and cake— from the national bakery

Our thumps may have fractured the future,
nudged aspirations into despair,
voted here instead of there
but we will not break our bones,
disregard the signs or forget to pray

We brew the December palm wine!
we’ll waits to savor the strength
what we taste, we shall spit or sip some more
and we will hear no songs louder than our heart beat

Friday, November 9, 2012

Charley! —A word with a thousand meanings



“Charley” commonly spelt as “Chale” is a complete statement, you don’t agree? Charley basically means buddy/friend, right, but it also means “I know what you mean”. Charley, means “stop it.” Charley could mean “let’s go.” Charley charley charley could be decoded as, “can you believe this?”, “I’m not feeling this” or “I’m feeling this”, “you know?” So Charley, like “I’m off this”. Charley!, “I am happy”. Charley, “shocked.” Charleeey can be “I know what you are up to” or “I’m in trouble!” oh Charley!, “I’m disappointed,” “I empathized.”

It all depends on when and how you say it. Most indigenous Ghanaian languages are tonal; like in twi “papa”- fun “papa” -father “papa” -good and there is my favorite Ga sentence, “l3 l3 l3l3 l333” which means, it’s true the ship is large. You need the perfect pitch and charley you are in!

So how the hell do we belittle such ingenuity and music in a language that we have made, inherited, will leave behind for future generations.
Charley, I shock sef! We for go more local, you no dey see? You d3r I go catch you laRRa kraa wai. ;)

Thursday, September 6, 2012

“Wild Ghana?” Anas, Joy FM, Multi TV Rape 52 Women twice, hurray!!!




I used to have respect for Anas Aremeyaw Anas. It is sad he has become a rapist. Most Ghanaian media houses, particularly the Twi speaking stations make a circus of rape cases. Size of the penis, intensity of hump, nature of moans, everything else matters more than the story itself; that a human being has been abused and thus needs support and justice. We choose sensationalism over duty, but somehow in my Wild dreams I expected a little more from Joy FM and Multi TV.

If a bottle of poison is left on a table unlabeled and I know it is poison though I didn’t put it there, then I watch on as a young man pick up the bottle and drink its content, I killed the man. I am a killer.

How can anyone watch over 52 women get raped and wait to be called a hero some three months later? How come one woman was not enough to have Anas jump in and kick the ass of that monster of a Doctor? Why did we need 51 more women to be captured on camera to get us (interested?) excited?

Dear Anas, you have become a huge monster like the Rapist. Over 52 women? And you just watched? You wanted a big story, didn’t you? Oh but do you think 52 is big enough? Why didn’t we wait till we got to a thousand women? That would have been biiiiig! I hope you are happy now that some irresponsible media houses like Joy FM and Multi TV as well as some idle Ghanaians are calling your condoning act a “Must Watch.” Congratulations.

“Wild Ghana?” I agree! We are so recklessly wild that an award winning investigative journalist forgets the need to fight for justice, protect the vulnerable, and inform the people who trust him in a timely manner without needless sensationalism.

We are so effing wild that a reputable media house like Joy FM, would put such a shitty story on their website: http://edition.myjoyonline.com/pages/news/201209/93217.php

Ghana is soooo god damn wild that we wait to watch one man rape over 52 women, before he pulls their babies out of them and then talk about it casually like a soccer game.

We are wild! We want to see blood! Woman blood! 52 and more!

We forget that an abortion is a private affair and one who decides to go through with it needs medical and emotional support and not such exposure to Wild Ghana’s need for a blockbuster series.

The abused Women do not need an audience, they don’t need our dear Wild Ghana to sit behind screens and discuss their ordeal with judgmental tongues.

Joy FM, Multi TV, Anas, since we want to go wild and we don’t understand civility, good judgment, justice and privacy anymore; I say go fuck yourselves at the Freedom and Justice Arch.


Photo credit: http://ourlady-ofsorrows.deviantart.com/art/The-blood-all-over-your-hands-67251008