Kwaku Ananse

ananse ntentan – image courtesy google images  

 

Cunning one

The one with eight arms

The land’s wily octopod

Ingenious

The trickster himself

Of whom legends are told in blazes of orange tinted black

 

 

Oh arachnidan god

He who makes his home between the tusks of the mighty elephant

He who makes a mockery of the birds by traveling the winds on his silk spun webs

Teacher of weavers

The clothier of kings

And the possessor of the sky god’s stories

 

Keeper of all folklore

God of secrets

Dribbled down from the lips of Nyame himself

Myths of their own forte

And you

You champion intellect to no end

 

 

Your mischief knows no bounds

What you lack in strength you have built in mental acuity

Conniving and Machiavellian

You broker Faustian deals like Sasabonsam himself

Your hubris however has always lain in your brood

Nti-Kuma

 

Spider

Anthropomorphous man

Graced with razor sharp humour

Which you use to drain your enemies dry

You go by many aliases; Aunt Nancy, Nanzi, Anansi

But I acknowledge you by your one true name

Kwaku Ananse

 

© Sena Frost 2k16

We Are


We are
Fifty Nine today,
Young as nations go
But old enough to be gray
We are
Short and stunted
Yet proud and resilient
Like the much maligned cockroach we endure
The insecticides of corruption and manipulation
But
Still we are here.

We are blessed with natural resources
Which kill our nature
Because greed and unemployment are much more important to our youth than going to school
At least the 3 Rs are better than artisanal prospects in the river of easy wealth
Which rob us of any sense
One part success in three million parts of negligence.
In the banality of riches we reinforce our siblings’ marginal strengths over ours,
Just because we are.

We are,
Proud of our families
Oblivious to their shortcomings
And eager to make sure they are in positions of influence
So
We kick off that which is not our blood
That we might be safe in the future.
We are
Eager to pull our opponents down
Because we want what they have
And in the end we become the little children we are
Squabbling over a football we found in a gutter.

We are hardworking and ebullient
Forever the optimist
Always the hopeful
Our knees raise our heads into prayer
Because without Him there can be no faith.
And in that lies our deepest strengths
Which we have dragged since time immemorial in the tears of our eyes and the scars on our backs.

We are many shades of colour
The gateway to Africa
Woven into our kente and fugu
Dainty but powerful like the adowa and the kete dances
Festive and communal like the borborbor and kpalongo
Our nets are filled with the reality of our bountiful truth.
Just because
We are.

We are Ghanaian
Not the mightiest or the most resourceful
But a potpourri of helpfulness
As imparted from our elders of eons ago,
For every pebble on the mat there are a thousand caocao beans
We are who we are today
Because we never forgot who we were
In the blood of our fathers
Who tilled the green lands for
The golden reserves
In order that we might strike the
Black lode star
And shine brightly in the light sky.
On this day
And forever more
God bless our homeland Ghana.

© Sena Frost 2k16

Mental Blues

“Cudjoe! Cudjoe! Wake up!” I heard the voice from far away. Then I felt my body rising and my feet planted to the ground. Half asleep I was marched to the bathroom. Still groggy I was placed on the toilet seat. I did my thing. Next up the bath. Now that got me wide awake. I blinked as my body was washed down. “Today I don’t have a sore anywhere.” Bath over I was shunted back to the bathroom and mama was waiting for me. Pomade slathered and school shorts worn. My breakfast singlet was on in case I soiled myself.

I hurried back to the hall and waited. Mama finished up and set the table for me. Oats! Bleh. I don’t like oats because if you don’t eat it fast it becomes runny and cold. Daddy was done dressing for work and swiftly he was out of sight. I looked out the window. The sun was just rising.

It never failed to confuse me; in my English textbook little boys and girls woke up when the sun rose and always when the cock crowed. Daddy always woke me up while it was still dark, rarely ever being gentle. I frowned. Mama yelled at me. “Hurry up and finish eating.” I dug in.

A few moments later I was hopping down the stairs out the front door. Joe and co were just around the corner. We quickly walked the way to school. Daniel broke it first. “Cudjoe did you learn the times table?” My expression changed. “Ms. Sowah said today we will do mental.” The others nodded in approval. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s be saying it.” As we turned down the street to the toy store the refrain could be heard. “Two-One-Two! Two-Two-Four! Two-Three-Six!” by the time we reached the store we were on the six times table. After six we stopped because seven was hard. If only we knew what lay in store for us.

We raced across the zebra crossing in front of the school. We greeted the watchman who let us in. His nickname was xylophone because rumours had it he couldn’t spell xylophone. We clambered up the stairs to class three. No one else in the class had come. I fingered the five hundred coin in my pocket. “Let’s go and buy chips eh.” Roland suggested. I shook my head. He always brought thousand to school. He could buy anything he wanted before school started, first break and second break.

Daniel and Joe were already looking through their bags. It was time for races. I fished around my bag. Daniel had found his races car by then. It was a beauty. Blue and silver and with all four tyres still intact. I emptied my bag. Nothing! I sat on my table. Mama must have taken it out. I could only sit and watch as they ran around the classroom with their cars. The girls started coming into the class. Awurakua and her friends. They were loud and could beat you if you got into trouble with them.

Bored I leaned closer as they sat a few chairs away from me. They were saying the times table. And it wasn’t the six times table, it was nine! Nine times table! Amazed I shouted at them. “Ms. Sowah hasn’t taught us that one. Why are you learning it?” Dorcas, a tall girl (tallest in the class actually) looked directly at me. “Be there and be saying Ms. Sowah hasn’t taught us. She will beat you if you can’t say it.” The girls chimed in. There was something unpleasant about the way they sounded.

I looked at my friends busy with their cars. I sat with the girls and listened. A few minutes later the bell rang for assembly. We gathered round the front of the school. Assembly was long. I looked over at the girls standing in front of us. They were smiling. I turned around to look at my friends and the rest of the boys. They were talking about a film one of them had seen earlier.

Assembly ended and we walked back to class. I got to my seat and sat down. I took out my exercise book with the times table at the back. I looked beyond the six times table. I might as well have been watching a Chinese film.

Ms. Sowah walked into the class. She was fair and tall and hardly ever smiled. I didn’t like her. I remember the first time she taught us English. She told us that the baby duck is called a cygnet. I had read a book titled The Ugly Duckling so I knew that a baby duck is called a duckling. She called me to the front of the class and beat me. There was another time during dictation when I had written down all the words while we were reading the passage. While going around during dictation I was not writing. She beat me again. It was like I was always upsetting her. I looked at her and frowned. The class rose and chorused. “Good Morning madam.” We went through the greeting. She took a piece of chalk and wrote the dreaded word on the blackboard. Mental.

A collective hush went across the back of the classroom when the chalk stopped moving. I turned over to look at Ebo in the next row. His ears were wiggling. His shorts were wet from wee weeing on himself and he looked frightened. “Today,” Ms. Sowah announced. “We are starting the times table from six times table.” She picked up her cane from the cupboard. A lump formed in my throat.

We stumbled through the six, seven, eight and nine times table. Ms. Sowah paced up and down the rows. “Row one!” she barked. “Seven times table.” I was in row three. I pulled my exercise book out again. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and quickly walked up to me. “Cudjoe!” she was smiling. I rose and looked her in the eye. “Say the nine times table.” There was an ugly look in her eyes. I looked up at the cane hovering over my head and gulped.

I began. “Nine- One…”

 

THE END

Image courtesy Getty Images

The Day The World Stood Still

This is a fictious story inspired by true events.
Ladies and gentlemen,
I present

THE DAY THE WORLD STOOD STILL

‘’ Dear Diary,
Today has to be possibly the worst day of my life.’’
I shook my head once more. The day’s events had thrown me into utter disbelief. As I sat in the massive cavern that is my classroom, directly under one of two working fluorescent lights I smiled ironically. This has to be the most yawa thing which could happen to anyone. Imagine what would happen if anyone caught wind of this. In a big school. You wanna know how big? Motown big. I let out a deep sigh. Presently a mosquito hovered near my nose. A thunderclap later and there were bits of mosquito exoskeleton and goo plastered in my palms. The sound rapped sharply in the cool evening air. It seemed to reverberate as murmurs around the class. A back seat boy snarled ‘’ Ah you too what that?’’ I suppose he was interrupted in the middle of getting under a girl’s dress in the dimly lit rear of the room. I shrugged. I stared at the rest of the not so blank page and squinted. Through my half lidded eyes the world seemed to rewind.
‘’ Warning for juniors leave the annex!’’ the din of the brass bell and the hoarse bark of the bell boy cut through my sleep like a hot knife through butter. Someone muttered ‘’ This bell boy kraa ede like ring the bell hard too much.’’ ‘’ Make you no mind am. E be like say play dey en eye top.’’ Rising bell was always a cause for grief. Even though I could afford an extra ten minutes of sleep, the whiplash caused by the bell is not so easily forgotten. The house came to life raucously. I trudged out of bed. I checked whether my school uniform was safe nestled behind the thicket of coat hangers. Satisfied I made a beeline for the tubes. In the dank toilet stall a mix of relief and worry creased my face. I was constipated for three days straight. Relief because I had more time to bath and worried because I felt like I was carrying a pack of C-4 explosive in my rectum and I didn’t know when it was going to explode. I trundled through the rest of the morning ritual. No chores because of my semi-senior status. Form two third term meant we were at the top of the hierarchy. While some of my mates were busy being apex predators; having few natural enemies and plenty of prey to choose from I was largely invisible. Due to my melancholy and (enforced) solitary habits I wasn’t part of a clique. If I was part of an ecosystem I would be the seventeen year cicada sleeping under the soil. I lived a largely lonely existence.
I wasn’t looking forward to the morning. Breakfast was foregone because it wasn’t my week to eat. Empty wallet (I left it under my pillow) and empty chopbox (the padlock was stashed away in my trunk) meant I was going to have to wing it. Visiting can’t come quick enough. But it was Thursday and a gloomy one as that. Foreboding grey skies over a grey hill. ‘’ Funny.’’ I thought. The first warning started on my way to class from morning assembly. I was tall and skinny and it showed in my gait; an awkward ambling stride. I feel like a giraffe sometimes. So I was walking on the lover’s lane when I felt it. A knife twisting pain in my gut. I winced and soldiered on. Gladly I had just one paper today. Unfortunately it was in the afternoon. Around 12. It was gloomy and cold. Just great. I had left my cardigan in the house. Cardigans are ubiquitous in Motown. In hot or cold weather you were definitely going to find students wearing them. I cursed myself silently. I made it to class. Word going round was that we were going to write the paper at the Art School. Nice. If it rained we were going to be trapped. No access to the snack square or the school annex.
I sat down in silence. Everything was a bit blurry. Hunger necessitated a reduction of activities. No energy wasted on extraneous things. I avoided the group discussions. No talking. Not even to the girls. I slept away the hours. Everyone in class was accustomed to my quirky ways so I wasn’t disturbed, not till it was time to go to the Art School. GKA wasn’t ordinarily a difficult paper. The history made revising for it a chore. It could be overwhelming. Hunger pangs tore at my stomach but my concern was the slow turning of my bowels. I positioned myself in the middle of the class. It was much harder to cheat from there and I really just wanted to be left alone. The paper looked easy on the eye. I set to work. I was done in half an hour. Yeah yeah I know. I liked to finish my papers as quickly as possible and daydream or sleep the rest of the allotted time out. I felt the urge to fart and I positioned myself; one buttock up. Almost immediately I held it in.
Second warning. My eyes watered. The knife twisting gut pain was back. I wasn’t going to wing this one. I had to get to the school annex asap. I looked up at the invigilator and raised my hand. Without waiting for him to get to me I darted out of the classroom. How the art school lacks toilet facilities I have no frigging idea. I set out in my mile eating stride to cover the fifty plus metres to the school annex. Ten seconds into it and it was already a bad idea. I doubled over in pain. I started hobbling. I was in a dilemma. Holding in three days’ worth of crap was a herculean task. I was facing off nature and gravity and they were winning. I could hear the churning of my colon’s contents like an organic cement mixer. I burst out on to the road between the dining hall and the co-op shop. Then wham! It hit me again. My lumbar region screeched in pain. Tears welled up in my eyes. Mercifully there were no students in the form three block (their previous occupants were busy regaining the fat lost in three years of their academic travails). I half imagined how this situation would have panned out if they were there. Some of the boys would have been lounging out of the window waiting for unsuspecting juniors to pass by and send. One would have bawled ‘’ Yo! Form two boy. Drop.’’ I would have given them an incredulous ‘’WTF’’ look and continued my meandering on. ‘’Herh! E no be you we de call? In fact clock for there. Why are you loitering around during school hours?’’ I would have stuck my fingers in my ears. Fortunately this was never going to happen. Ultimately the delay would cause outright disgrace to me. It wasn’t worth obeying a senior for.
I laughed manically. I felt my coccyx sway. The school annex was just up ahead. I tried to increase my hobbling speed. Home straight. I veered into the hedge right beside it attempting a shortcut. The school annex was little loved. Despoiled and desecrated on a daily basis by the Anumle boys it was a place of darkness and unspeakable terrors. My need however trumped this. It was just too great for me to care. Then I heard a sound like a balloon deflating or cattle groaning. I felt the warm stickiness in the seat of my shorts. I lurched in horror. ‘’ Oh God, why now?’’ I whispered. Too late. How I tore off the shorts without a fleck of human excreta on it was mind boggling. It was bye bye boxers though. A tremor ran down my spine. A sharp cry of relief, tears of joy streaking my cheeks and the human sewer chugging its waste to the ground. A blissful idyll.
While I had the forbidden pleasure of relieving myself I wondered ‘’ What if Kasa saw me?’’ I was not about to be lulled into serendipity. He had the nasty habit of jumping students in the most undesirable areas. As I wrapped up there was still no show. I cleaned myself up by the tap which was most fortunately stationed a few feet away.
I snapped back into the present. I crossed out the opening sentence and scrawled again. I just had to record today better. The weirdest of the weird I know. It now read ‘’ Today is the day the world stood still.’’

La Semaine

French is a romantic and poetic language I appreciate. While my French is rudimentary the power of the translator cannot be understated. Please enjoy.

Je suis Kosi,
Je m’appelle sage et doux,
Le serviteur des anciens.

Je m’appelle Adzo,
Je suis entraînee et zéléé,
La bête noire des femmes paresseuse.

Ils m’appellent Komla,
La vie du festival,
Assistant du conteur.

Mon nom est Aku,
Amoureux de la bonne nourriture,
Et l’écouteur des ragots de bonne.

Yaa est mon nom,
Le secret des dieux,
Servante de la terre.

Je m’appelle Kofi,
Tous les cultivateurs me connaissant,
Et leurs poules ne sont pas sûrs de mon pot.

Je suis Ami,
Timide et la fierté de la terre,
Le chef a lex yeux car moi seul.

Nous sommes les fils du soleil,
Les filles de la lune,
Et dan nos coeurs et nous esprits se trouve le berceaude la pensée,
L’element vital de la culture.

© Sena Kodjokuma 2015

I Am Looking For A Wife

Papa I have come to you this morning,
With my cloth around my waist and ash in my hair,
Hands clasped in mourning.
Papa I dreamed a dream and it was a night-mare!
I dreamed that my manhood was ripped from my loins as I watched,
The long tendrils of my babymaker watering the ground,
And the cruel jibe of my maimers as the pain latched.
“He who fetches firewood for his hearth needs not the strength of his loins.”
I woke doused in a lagoon of sweat,
And touched my self tentatively down there,
At the place where the branches of my legs meet my meat,
And calmed I come to you,
Papa I am looking for a wife.
I am two and forty harvests old,
The erstwhile pride of the clan,
Now the butt of all jokes told.
I stare at the maidens deadpan,
For the songs in my mouth go mouldy and cold,
And the seed in them is not fit to be chicken feed,
While my heart labours and strains with the ache of my loins’ need.
I am looking for a wife,
She need not be tall and waiflike,
Graceful and mysterious like the women of the fire tribe,
Their stories hidden in the scars on their cheeks,
Or petite and full of curve,
The ovals of their necks carrying the royalty of the forest tribe,
Trinkets jingling
Enhancing the wobble of their assets,
For these are the first daughters of the gods,
The ones to whom only the chosen have a claim to assert.
She need only catch the eye of this mortal man,
And choose me as I choose her.
I am looking for a wife,
One who will light up my hut,
While I crack logs open,
For my sons to fetch and keep the night cold shut.
One who bakes pots in her own oven,
And draws my morning water,
With the dainty steps of a deer.
I am looking for a wife.
One to be my dear,
Who will chide me in the darkness of my hut,
Hold me to her breast when my eye threatens to spill a tear.
She needs not be chosen by the gods,
And though my songs may be mouldy and cold,
She will ignite them with her passion,
For as I choose her she chooses me.
I am looking for a wife,
A woman who never fails to remind me that morning has broken,
And when Asaase Yaa offers her gifts,
She whispers in my ear,
“Agya I have changed the beads on my waist.”
And when we fumble and wrestle in the dark,
She shows me that you don’t need light to see their beauty.
A wife who will take me into her,
And not judge from the strength of my loins,
When the flower of my youth withers,
For the fruit slowly ripening.
Then we will eat it together.
So Papa I have come to you this morning,
With my cloth around my waist and ash in my hair,
Hands clasped in mourning.
Papa I dreamed a dream and it was a night-mare!
I dreamed that my manhood was ripped from my loins as I watched,
The long tendrils of my babymaker watering the ground,
And the cruel jibe of my maimers as the pain latched.
“He who fetches firewood for his hearth needs not the strength of his loins.”
I woke doused in a lagoon of sweat,
And touched my self tentatively down there,
At the place where the branches of my legs meet my meat,
And calmed I come to you,
Papa I am looking for a wife.

© Sena Kodjokuma 2015

THE COCKROACH

 Image courtesy Google Images 

Charle, as I dey this trosky inside ebe ma last 2 Ghana dey ma pocket inside o. So-so thinking dey ma mind top. The way I no chop too eh. But Fofo too she mess up o. I de take car from Odorkor all the way to East Legon sake of she see cockroach for en bed top wey she de fear. Sometimes women de funny me waa. I shock sef say she call me mohm. I hear from am keep. Like 4 years this. Sake of she from Yankee come no ky33 bia. She go university for there come.

Before I go toa so, make I yob you about Fofo small. Fofo be ma shawty. We de komot like 6 years this if you want attache the 4 years she borga. I de feel am pass. She tall like 5 feet, wey she no hy3da fair like that. En smile then en dimple de kill me pass. If I want talk about en body eh I suwear you go stone me for here. En Manchester then Arsenal no size. Them ripe like mango wey them no over bola. Fofo get small space for en teeth inside wey she de like Rasta then cornrow pass. The thing be say Fofo be the woman I de dream about every gb3k3. Beyoncé then Nicki Minaj sef no near am.

I meet Fofo for the Labone side there. Then times na I dey ma mommy en there for Labadi so e do a I de walk go the dadabee people themma side there. That morningtee in fact I de kae the date waa. Na ebe 29th February 2012. I just base for some tree under wey I de claim air. Mommy go job wey she no cook or lef chow for house. I hung aa wey I talk ma body say I go run ma body hit money give waakye today. I just spy the people them de walk for the hood inside. Some old man then en dog come pass. The dog fat pass the man sef. I see say the dog fit do me yawa if I go try something. Like five minutes pass wey I see say some fine girl bi de walk go. The way she do en hair I see say she complete SS wey she just dey house. That time na I dey form 4 de go write WASSCE. Vac things so I fit base for tree under small. Eno be everyday wey I go mow saa.

Anyway I follow the girl saa wey as she turn the curve wey I start de boot. I gye ma eye wey I just pull en purse from en hand inside. She just shock wey she no fit shout. I no look back aa wey I go komot for the waakye seller en body. I spy the purse inside eh na I de want faint sef. Money be what? I see 50 Ghana 4 for inside. The 10 then 20 chao pass. I spy inside better wey I see 5 Ghana. I gye wey I take buy the chow. Ridee I go house say I de go chop na I no fit chop sef. The girl en money then phone all dey the purse inside o. I dey there wey I just talk say I go take go police station. I just wey ma fitted cap wey I start de trek go the station there.

I de walk all the girl just come ma mind inside. The way she get shape like them women for uptee clips inside. I de kae en shada sef. She wear some check-check shirt then white skirt ede catch en knee. She do en Rasta like basket. The front raise wey she take rubber band hold the rest for en back. She get them baby faces some wey I see say she no be them girls them de rush some. I just start de feel yawa for there kraa. I kech the police station wey I chook ma body. The koti just sound me some sounding for there eh. I just see stars start de walk like I booze. As I de come enter the counter-back wey I see say the girl come plus en old boy. Saa na naa the man plus the dog be en old boy. The koti pause small wey e talk plus them. “He actually just turned himself in. you can talk to him.” That be what na the koti de tell them. The girl watch ma face wey she smile. I see the dimple then I just shy for there. Them take the purse give am wey she watch inside. “Look Papa, he took just 5 Cedis from the purse.” She smile saa. En old boy di3 eno want smile sef. The boys for the cells there shock sef. One diss me saa. “How you fit borst then you come chook your body. Wey ebe 5 Ghana p3 you take. You fool pass.”

E make the koti release me wey e tell me say make I follow them. We kech outside I start de turn go wey e hold me. “Young man, you’re going home with us.” En palm inside check like road top. Ebe baree pass! Ma heart just cut wey I start de beg. “Sir please I won’t do it again. Sir I beg.” For there wey the girl start de laugh. She laugh saa as we de enter the man en ride inside. Charle the ride eh no be any small car o. G Wagon o wey them spray am grey plus black rims. I just watch ma body wey ma eye die. Ma singlet tear-tear wey ma fitted too de look like sometime the blind beggars for town de wear. Ma chalewote sef no de match. One be blue bird wey the other one be a ka me last the colors-colors one some.  Ebe ma shorts p3 e make okay sake of ebe school shorts.

I de go sit backseat wey the man tell me say make I come sit front. I nearly piss put ma body as I hear. I make quiet wey I go tap. E move the car wey we go. So as the man de drive ede biz me questions. “Young man, what’s your name?” “My name is James. James Kudorwor. Everybody calls me Shakes though.” I reply am. “You are a very curious thief James – er Shakes.” The girl that o. “Why take just 5 cedis?” “Please I’m not a thief o. It is just that – I de hung so I for chop.” I shake wey ma bl3 quench so I toa so plus pidgin. The man just smile for there wey the girl di3 she just de laugh. I watch am for the driving mirror inside saa. Them biz me where I de stay then the school I de go all. Them introduce themma body give me. Major Charles Kotey then Fofo Kotey be themma names. Them kech themma house wey them give me 100 Ghana. “Don’t be a thief okay?” Fofo shake ma hand. “I hope to see you soon.” That be all.

The way Fofo the en old boy help me eh. Sake of me then mommy de br3. Mommy de job for pure water company. She de go early wey she de come late. E do a them de give me money wey I de take support we for house all. I visit Fofo more times. She teach me maths then science all sake of ma head no hy3da good for that side. I come feel am eh. The day I write WASSCE fini she take me go mall go watch movie. We wey trosky make I shock. I see say she de make I make comfortable waa. We dey like a few months wey I tell am say I de want komot am. She laugh saa wey she tell me say “Go and read the story of the princess and the frog and come and narrate it to me.” I bore for there. Sake of she know say I no de like read.

I force ma body search the book. I read fini like one week. I go see am. As I de gbaa am the story all she de near me. I start de move wey she tell me say make I tap. I kech the side wey the princess kiss the frog wey she just moff me for there. I de kae the way en moff de taste. She de taste like mango then orange juice. Since that day we start de komot. Them move go East Legon wey I lef mommy en there go Odorkor. I start some apprenticeship for some fitting shop sake of I no fit go uni or poly. Fofo en old boy say e go help me I tell am say nah. The way them watch ma top fini SS good give me. Fofo bore me for there. She de come fly sef she no tell me. That time all na things no de go well. Major die of cancer wey e lef Fofo p3. Me too I make wild for job de try learn sake of I want go do mechanical engineering for uni. Homeboy no know how them de kror-kror woman if things so de happen. We argue more times wey one dey I de go visit am the credit seller for there tell me say Fofo say make she tell me say she de fly go Yankee go school come. I shock wey I just lef there quick.

That day I cry. I get en picture one p3. I watch am aa. I come lose weight all. I wake up one day wey I just decide say I make fine. I go pass that side again the credit seller give me note. She forget say she go take give me as e tell me. I open the note 5 Ghana dey inside wey she write for en basa-basa handwriting inside. “My good thief, when you miss me read the princess and the frog. XOXO. Fofo.” I smile small. The note still dey ma pocket inside.

I dey the trosky inside wey I just de laugh as I de kae. Fofo try do kubolor things before o. She come search me for house before. The way she lost. I go see ma guys bi for the hood inside wey them tell me say some fine girl bi dey around de ask of me. That day too e rain so the rain beat am well. I carry am go house that day. I just gye ma eye sake of where I go take am pass go house make muddy. That day wey we lose wona virginity. For ma student mattress top. We fini wey she de bed ma top de laugh. Fofo di3 she always de laugh. I take am go Amelia en koko joint wey she fall gutter inside all she de laugh. I kae these things all wey I just miss am. Sake of she no talk say we shun. I no de want see am but charle if you de love some bro a you never fit do anything. E de make you make jon but you no de biz. She no know cook wey she try do waakye give me. That day I go drug store go buy laxative. The girl put soy sauce all for the chow inside. I just no fit. Me then en old boy laugh am saa.

One thing I de kae about Fofo be say she de like ball watch. Them get Dstv but match dey a she de come my there make we go watch for ma hood spot. She be strong Chelsea fan wey I be Liverpool fan. The time Essien score own goal I laugh am saa make she block me for WhatsApp top.  We fit argue sake of ball like she be man.

I kech the place wey I get down. I still get spare key so I enter the house inside. Themma dog see me wey e start de run come. En name be Brutus. Some boerboel o. e lick me saa wey I force gyemi from am. I open the door. The whole place make dark. I see some bro de bed the couch top. E turn small wey I see say ebe Fofo. I smile wey I go en room go wey blanket come give am. I enter the room inside no cockroach too dey there. “This girl paa.” I just shake my head for there. I come cover am wey I sit the armchair inside de watch am.

I FINI