I see you in my dreams
I write you in my diary
I swear!
My self destructive button
My end to the old beginning
Beware!
One day the lights will go off
Once I sit down in the darkness
I'll cry
Till there are no tears anymore
Till all the strength in me is gone
I'll try
To begin again
So let's begin again
Let's write a new story
I was a teenager when it happened. I grew up in a slum, several miles away from anywhere. I spent a lot of time in these parts, walking around, playing football and such. Then when I went to high school I saw something different.
At first I thought of it as a destruction. I was a science student and the library wasn't supposed to be my favourite place, there was always the lab to go. But no, not me, I hid myself in the books, buried in imaginations and fantasies.
It was a different world out there and I loved it. I began writing there. Taking words and making them my own. It was like swimming across an ocean to the other aside, I had the strangest feeling.
Now with ink and a fresh page I've survived so many ills. I have a faraway look at things and I never look back. I failed my WASSCE final exams but I've written so much for myself. I'll do it again if I had a second chance for out of the ruins have I found my passion, Writing!
When it begins it's a dream,
Just a dream,
Then it becomes a goal,
Only a goal,
Rippling effects,
Making waves;
Removing defects,
Erasing names;
It becomes more clearer,
Like a vision finally found;
And you search no wider,
Your greatness only abound!
To do something,
And achieving nothing,
To try with all you have,
And not getting even half.
You wonder!
Where did I go wrong?
You wander!
Why is the path so long?
Answers will come,
Yet not today,
Try and overcome
Maybe some day!
Remember you've said it before,
Never again!
You even meant it more than before,
Never again!
Flipping through the pages you wrote it down in ink,
You impressed it upon your heart so it wouldn't sink,
Yet you did it again even before you could think,
With tears rolling down your cheeks with one blink.
No need to give up, realise how far you've come,
Just look forth and tell yourself yes you can!
This one thing do, never say never again!
Let life roll, and you'll see all was for your gain!
For everything there is a season,
The dog only barks for a reason,
A bee can never quit beeing,
Such grace of human being,
You sit down and wonder what if,
Disregarding it still can be even if,
Sometimes life brings us to crossroads,
When all we have left are lifeboats,
We can choose to quit,
Or just pretend to be fit,
There's nothing in losing afterall,
Let all know you are made of more!
So I said it. Fufu is the most complete food in the world. Anyone who has ever tasted this Ashanti delicacy will vocally attest to this fact. It's a mixture of cassava (potato-like tuber) and plantain. Through hard work (pounding) and skillful driving those two unagreeable farm produce find common ground somewhere in between. Once it's flooded with enough soup as an accompaniment all the hard work is forgotten. The hardest part of enjoying fufu is trying to manage it with any set of cutlery (almost impossible). It's made with hands and the only way to best enjoy it is with bare hands as well. Anytime you visit Ghana just find a 'chop bar' anywhere and make your order. I know you will enjoy it!
How do you speak hope to one who's addicted to drugs? With his palm in chin, foreign to any sense of hope, disguised by the illusion that everything is over! Why don't you try irrestible love? Or better still why don't you just shut up and listen.
How do you speak love to the widow that's lost her two kids as well? Absent minded and eaten her lonely bread, she cannot even begin to fathom a loving God. Why don't you preach hope for a brighter day? Sometimes we just have to sit in silence to better hear the whispering heart of those who are hurting?
And when it becomes necessary to speak, really necessary; let's take heed from the ancient prophet's words "The Lord GOD hath given me the tongue of the learned, that I should know how to speak a word in season to him that is weary: he wakeneth morning by morning, he wakeneth mine ear to hear as the learned." To speak the right words we need first to listen!
Writers live twice. They live their lifetime and then they live their legacy. Every time someone quotes them, every moment anyone takes their words and relive them, they live again.
Every story has to be told and every story is told by someone. The world is a wide place and there are just people like you waiting to hear your voice and views expressed. So start thinking about the real you, the story you have and share with others. Many can relate to it.
You can start with a blog today, thankfully it's free. Or maybe you can own a diary and start writing. You can start with the things that interests you. A little at a time, make it a hobby rather than labour. Who knows, you might have a best seller in you. Take time to write, it's a healer.
I would make different decisions. I would set myself apart to seek wisdom and understanding. I would live my life in pursuit of the things I only believe in.
And yet I'm a man now. A full bearded man with the opportunity to right the wrongs in my life and make the most of the things around me. It's never an easy thing, to wake up in the morning with the mind to do one thing and have your whole body telling you to do another.
So I'm going to do what I have to do. For a boy can only dream what a man does. I have today and I have my future ahead. I'm going to be what I set out to be for the past is but a story we tell ourselves over and over again. It's possible still.
I was the target of someone's wrongdoing. I confessed to my prosecutor I was innocent. Somehow I knew deep within him he knew I was right. Yet he kept on pushing, he kept on touching just to hurt me.
I was tensed, it had me thinking, I was scared. I was going to pay for a crime I didn't know anything about. I prayed until God led me to this law firm. I paid consultation fee and told the beautiful lawyer everything I knew. She listened with keen interest.
Then she said it: " The case is civic, not criminal" Take my number if the police comes for you tell them you have to call your lawyer. As I left the office it was like a fog had been lifted from my shoulders. Right there and then I decided I would be a lawyer one day. I developed an interest for the law and I'm reading law now. And I love the suit that comes with it too What interests you?
So I met with the students eventually. I met Gervin, I met Caliatus and Calista the twins. I met Crispin, Jerome, Mildred, and Rainer my favourite of all. We enjoyed three reading sessions together. They had big names they mentioned with ease and pride. Jerome asked me for my mobile number. When I started giving it out he pulled a book in which he had a white Reverend Father's name and another one at the top. I was number three. The boy was networking already even in Primary school. And yes he's called me to say hello just a fortnight ago. Rainer had a mind that took me by surprise. She read like a parrot. Matilda had a huge vocabulary for a teen. Another wanted to become the president of Ghana when he grew up. At the end of the week we had to give awards to the best students. It was the only time they made us sorry. They were bitter losers. Some cried and we wished we had something for everyone. They had an insatiable appetite for success which is quite rare in kids their age. They gave all of us memories we won't forget in a hurry. As soon as we landed we all agreed we had to go back there with bigger gifts and awards. I love Nandom, the people, the food and the peace. Thank you Google for giving me so little to go and find out so much for myself.
GHANA ISN'T ONLY ACCRA
www.Facebook.com/ghtour
THE END
I miss those days. The days I walked barefooted on the streets of Asawasi. When the ladies played ampe and the guys played four posts. It was fun, it was great. The days when I felt no guilt nor remorse. Yet the times have passed, the memories live on, and the finest is yet to come. Maybe I would have been a better person. Maybe I would have been more than I am today. Maybe if I had not seen all those violence I've seen on the streets I wouldn't be so scared in life. Maybe the many guys I've seen die growing up has made me live life more cautiously. Maybe it isn't a bad thing I was born in a slum. Maybe it's the only reason I'm not afraid. Maybe Asawasi was made for me. Maybe you should visit Asawasi one day.
Then there were the women. Their hospitality, their grace and radiance. It was about the food they served and how they served it. The organisation on the table, yeah how they bowed when offering the food. They were ever busy. Either setting up a table for the family or with hand laundry. One verse came in mind " She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness". Never a dull moment with these women. Then you see a motorbike with a mother and three kids on. You see danger and yet you see efficiency wrapped up with love in motion. They do something to your mind, they make you forget you're several miles away from the nearest city. Then their markets. Few own shops with locks so they just turn up their dried vegetables and fruits. Under their sheds with spacious routes they make a clean market. All rights reserved their dexterity is unmatched. And I'm yet to meet the students anyway....End of Part 2
When I set out to go to Nandom I wanted to know all there was to know about the place so I did what every 21st century guy would do. I googled. I was only given two sentences "Nandom is a town in the Lawra district of the upper West region in Ghana. It is the most intellectually saturated town in Ghana." Of course I was disappointed. I wanted to know which old man sat under what tree to make such a ridiculous claim. I wanted to know what measuring stick he used in assessing and uttering such blasphemy. But before my rage I took wisdom from the Good Old Book " Foolish is the man who answereth before listening" And so I went, I watched and I listened. Their streets were named, the town was clean, the average motorking 'aboboyaa' driver could speak so well three very distinct languages. Every household had a back garden, they reared animals, they had solar power as backups. They made use of everything they had, the little nature had offered them. They enjoyed their 'tubaani', they valued their 'pito' over all the other alcoholic beverages, they spoke their language; they had a sense of identity and unison. I saw and observed all these things and I had not even met the students yet. End of part 1....
That's all I can call it, madness! People are taking advantage of opportunities that had never been existent until now to make change and positive impact. Well others are just putting their mouths where they've not been invited. Hitherto if the Daily Graphic or any other newspaper published an article, that was it. If you had something to say, you said it only in your homes. But now progressively you can add a comment to any publication via social media platforms. People are disrespecting here and there, insulting reputable institutions, defamatory remarks about leaders, and it's becoming cancerous. Just because you can say something does not mean you should say it.Social media abuse is on the rise. From everywhere, the news agencies and the general public. I advise if you are bored or looking for recognition, create a blog or post a status on Facebook(it's free anyway). You don't post a insulting comment under a status by a media house that asks people to wish our Honourable President happy birthday. You don't attack a certain reputable Papa Kwasi Nduom who has extensive successes as a businessman because he gave his thoughts on issues that bothers all of us. You don't tell Casely Hayford he is ignorant when you don't know a quarter of what he knows. Respect! Ghana youth, be tolerant of others' opinion even when you don't agree with them. And please if I may; Shut up if you don't have anything progressive to say!
Knowledge is hidden in there somewhere,
With every page flip I fall in love,
It's such a strange feeling and quiet rare,
A gem every reader must have.
And that's my way with books,
Taking the time to digest all the words,
And that's your way with books,
A succinct collection of spoken words.
In my thoughts I conceal them with locks,
For every oversight I conceive as my loss,
Words rent a space then they go loose,
Yet you accommodate if you so choose.
Knowledge is hidden in there somewhere,
With every page flip I fall in love,
It's such a strange feeling and quiet rare,
A gem every reader must have.
And that's my way with books,
Taking the time to digest all the words,
And that's your way with books,
A succinct collection of spoken words.
In my thoughts I conceal them with locks,
For every oversight I conceive as my loss,
Words rent a space then they go loose,
Yet you accommodate if you so choose.
It was a quiet place in a nice little town. A place away from the noises and the wails of the city. It had everything; electricity, water and a study table and a chair. And of course an excellent internet reception.
It was one of those Guest Houses that does not even have a name. The backup generator was ready and automated for any dumsor that emerged. The water somehow turned hot after it flowed for a minute. It was ideal and a perfect place for reading and writing.
I have done some of my best works in this place. The peace alone has blessed me. I can firmly say what a writer needs is not some big vocabulary, what a writer needs is not some big villa in a tranquil environment. What a writer needs is peace. In all it was a wonderful experience and one I would go back to any day; I feel like a writer again!
