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

And They Go…

And They Go…

Here she comes,

Stealing the breaths away,

That of the tobacco stained giggles of the young men and the palm wine flavoured tang of the grey haired draught kings alike.

Here she comes,

Drawing hisses,

(or is it kissing the teeth?)

Of the market women and the homely maidens.

So jealous yet powerless in front of her,

Like fire flickering at the sun.

We hear her before we see her.

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

Her breasts,

Succulent and ripe like the mangoes in da Atsufui’s backyard.

Heaving in their cloaked majesty,

Oh what a bosom.

But no that’s not what I’m talking about.

Listen closely,

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

Her backside,

Rumbling like the gourds strung out to dry at fo Favour’s bar.

Drawing her cloth taut,

And raising the front of any man’s lower garments.

But no that’s not what I’m talking about.

Listen closely,

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with every step.

Here she comes,

Stealing the breaths away,

The tobacco stained giggles of the young men and the palm wine flavoured tang of the grey haired draught kings.

Here she comes,

Drawing hisses,

(or is it kissing the teeth?)

Of the market women and the homely maidens.

We hear her before we see her.

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

Juggling her pan on her head,

The firewood bobbing and weaving,

She dances with it,

Moving at her own tempo.

Graceful and supple.

Like her braids fluttering in the wind.

We hear her before we see her,

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

Here she comes,

Stealing the breaths away,

The tobacco stained giggles of the young men and the palm wine flavoured tang of the grey haired draught kings.

Here she comes,

Drawing hisses,

(or is it kissing the teeth?)

Of the market women and the homely maidens.

We hear her before we see her.

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

“Daavi”

The children prance around her,

Capricious little kids.

She smiles,

Dimples,

See dimples la.

“Aaaaah”

Sigh the young men waiting their turn at the barbershop.

She bobs and weaves,

Dancing to her own tune.

Listen!

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with every step.

We hear her long after she’s gone.

They say she be a witch.

For me I don’t mind at all,

Because she’s bewitching.

Her cloth slips when she baths,

The water runs down her,

Watering her matted jungles,

Fondling her ripe mangoed breasts,

Sluicing down valleys,

Then bouncing gaily off her backside.

Yes the one which rumbles like the gourds at fo Favour’s bar.

Tip tap,

Tip tap,

Chi chi chi.

The tambourine sounds coming from her bath time,

Tip tap,

Tip tap,

Chi chi chi.

She’s beaded,

With water drops.

Shimmering,

She be a witch,

See,

I am bewitched.

From the crack in the wall,

Perched like harmattan mango,

Ready to fall.

Then I hear her,

They go chi chi chi.

Daavi Akpene’s waistbeads,

Luminescent like a moon bow over Wli,

Crisscrossing and arching,

Embracing her slender pelvis with glee.

Ochre and rust,

Blue and green,

Chattering merrily away,

Chi chi chi they go.

Rows of ritual sensuality,

Robbing men of their hindbrains,

Sending them into echelons of palm wine induced spirituality,

“Oh dadavi,

Mide kuku na wo sia”.

I would gladly die,

To hear them sing their song,

Everyday that she passes through the market square,

Swaying the men with each dip of her hips,

They go like a rutting agama lizard,

Nod nod nod.

Leaving the homely maidens hissing,

(or is it kissing their teeth?)

Ss ss ss.

The children prancing,

As she heads home.

Listen closely,

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

© Sena Frost 2015

 

The Fifa Duel

THE FIFA DUEL

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The room was filled with such primal intent when the new comer walked in. Over the deathly silence, nobody noticed him lurking at the back. The furore earlier had brought him sniffing. Now he gazed at the others intent on waiting his turn. Presently a roar went up and a din filled the area. The new comer cleared his throat and projected his voice. “After kpor.” At the sound the others stiffened. They turned to glance at him balefully, wolf faces scarred by numerous battles. The reigning champion sized him up and smirked. Savouring the scent of the meal to come he nodded his approval to the new comer. “The guy de look cool chop o.” commentated a player turned spectator. “This one di3 the game owner for put for am easy kraa.” Said another. “Nah the way e get vim talk after kpor di3 the game owner for de gee.” “I no de fear kraa. This game owner de win tournament for mall and tins all o. Vim dey.” The first speaker spoke. “You go bet for top?” “Sharp kraa.” Declared the consensus.

The new comer grinned and picked up the controller. “Wey configuration you de use?” the champion asked. He was the game owner as well. “Box to shoot.” The new comer replied. “Abi u de take the R1 de boot.” The champion continued. “Yeah.” Came the curt reply. “Then ibi custom B.”

They proceeded to select teams. The champion/ game owner quickly made his selection. Bayern Munich. The new comer shook his head and twisted his lips, eventually settling for Real Madrid. Behind him bets were being placed on the two. The odds? Your guess is as good as mine.

The game owner did his tactics; a 5-4-1 diamond formation, with Schweinsteiger at LWB and Shaqiri in CDM. The new comer just did the usual, putting Ronaldo on top and Benzema relegated to the bench.  The game started without much ado and the game owner/ champion was up to his tricks effectively hitting a through ball for Thomas Muller to convert easily. A chuckle rose from the crowd. The new comer restarted the game. In a series of “eish” and ajei.” He had successfully rounded the goalkeeper in a Ronaldo solo effort. “Massa, then the Rabona be tight.” Commented one spectator who loved fancy flicks. A few seconds again it was Ronaldo again, employing an elegant sombrero flick and finishing with a delicate chipped shot over the hapless keeper.

Flustered, the game owner and reigning champion switched to Ultra Attacking and High Pressure. His tactics almost came to immediate fruition as Mandzukic narrowly missed a header. With a well-placed throw from the goalkeeper Casillas, Bale was sent ahead in the counterattack. A roulette was in store for Dante and Bale squared for Ronaldo to net his hat trick. A few sniggers erupted within the crowd. The game owner glared at them. “Game owner paa wey dem de take moves de gye am so?” “Nigga shottop for der.” The game owner retorted.

He pulled one back and had a potential equaliser disallowed for offside. The new comer was silent. All you could hear were the clicks of the controller as he relentlessly carved the defense open, converting chance after chance with impunity. The game ended 6 – 2 in favour of the new comer. The boys broke into a collective jeer. The new comer shrugged. As he turned to leave he felt a hand grip his wrist firmly. “Ma guy, where you de go? Rematch.” The new comer replied nonchalantly. “No yawa.” And the game started all over again.

FOOD

 

At the time of writing this, I had just finished a meal of “banku” and “gboma detsi”. Food simply but is one of the cornerstones of life. I savoured each scoop of the “banku” and wondered how to write a post on food. As a former hale and hearty eater (who doesn’t grow fat no matter how hard he tries.) I find is surprisingly difficult to describe the eating experience. At this moment, my favourite anime character mugiwara no Luffy sums up everything I have to say about eating. Eat what you have been served, eat heartily and ask for more helpings if you can. Treat every meal as if it is gourmet and do not be squeamish about trying new dishes. Who knows? You may like it!

 

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Judith; nudes and the Ghanaian

The nude in contemporary African art is subject to polarizing views and controversies. From when African people have been described as people of few clothes till now where lesser clothes spark controversy the nude has been at its epicenter.
Our various cultures see little wrong with a woman showing off her body as seen in our puberty rites. In the wake of missionary work which relegated traditional religion to idol worship the selfsame culture was labelled primitive and derogatory. Whatever right artists from the Renaissance and “civilized” European countries had to draw, paint and sculpt nudes is lost to me.
Recently a friend of my Judith modeled for a nude photo-shoot. This immediately sparked acts of rancor. She has been mainly a non conformist. The picture in itself is beautiful and demure. Its revealing nature dampened by the drapery and lighting.
Over all it speaks of innocence and femininity. Her eyes however betray this otherwise virginal look. Knowing her personally I’d say there’s a wanton woman roving behind them. Her glare and the set jaw speak of daring and hold little fear of the unknown. The disheveled hair suggests the wild nature of her persona. The darkness is symbolic of the wanton desires we hold as imperfect human beings.
As an artist in the making I would aptly say this is a masterpiece of a shot. Taking on a variety of meanings and judgment from a mainly confused people it stands for the deep lying discord our cultures and religious beliefs sow.
Nudism is not self gratifying but an avenue for showing the perfection of the human body as a gift of God and nature.