“Freedom!”

“…and when the large crowd finally calmed down, bringing their victory chants under control, Kwame Nkrumah looked round at the faces of the multitude gathered at the grounds and asked in all seriousness, ‘Show by hands if you’ll be eating Jollof tonight.’ Thousands of hands lifted up to the heavens amidst loud cheers and jubilation. Then right on cue, the skies opened, letting its showers wash down the sweat off their tired bodies. Independence day couldn’t have gotten any better. It seemed even Heaven was going to eat Jollof that night too…”

– Diary of Welbie Snr (Ghana, 6th March 1957)

 

Kwame Nkrumah stood behind the podium, scanned the faces of the crowd once more and smiled lightly, mostly to himself.
“Agoooooo!” he chanted into the array of microphones arranged in front of him.

“Amɛɛɛɛɛɛɛɛ!” The reply that greeted him was filled with so much enthusiasm and joy, he was overwhelmed.

The night was still young. He intended to keep his speech concise and very straight to the point so that everyone could disperse and celebrate the night away. What most people didn’t know was that he had been shouting from excitement prior to his coming to the grounds to deliver the declaration of Ghana’s Independence and as such, his left pocket with filled with Ahomka Ginger toffees to restore his voice from sore throat.

“Ahemm.. my mic still dey on? Ahemm” he cleared his throat into the microphones.

“At long last, the battle has ended!  And thus, Ghana, your beloved country is free forever!”

He mused that the speech would take longer than expected when his opening line was met by yet another bout of chanting and jubilation. His main concern then was how cold his jollof would be when he snuck back to Regina Adofo’s place later that night.

Regina was one of the seven women he was secretly seeing. The way to a man’s heart is definitely through food because Regina’s jollof was something he found divine. Of the seven women he was seeing concurrently, it was only Fatiah who came close to challenging Regina’s culinary skill. Though Fatiah was a foreigner, an Egyptian as such, she had a knack for preparing koose so delicious that he often retorted if manna should fall from Heaven, it’d taste just like Fatiah’s koose.

“And yet again, I want to take the opportunity to thank the people of this country…” He continued his speech.

Apart from officially declaring the independence of the newly-born Ghana, Nkrumah had another important message he wanted to put across. He had had a vision of the future. He was actually spending the night at Florence’s when he had this vision. A vision of a young man with hairstyle he, Nkrumah, hadn’t been exposed to before.. but he figured there’d be lots of mannerisms he’d find intriguing especially if they’re from the future.

“Also, I want to inform you people of a vision I had..” he had reached the part he wanted to talk about most passionately.

“I had a vision of me standing here today with a young man. A man with hairstyle so dreadful, I’ll just go ahead and call it dreads. He had lips so thick it reminded me of my mother’s palmnut soup. Since I haven’t met any such person yet, I can only assume he’s from the future.”

The multitude looked on in stunned silence as they listened to their colonial hero go on about this said vision.

“What I’m saying to you as a country is that, there’s another who will come after me. He’ll come to you with dreads as I’ve described. He’d do great things, throw this country into a state of frenzy euphoria – he’d preach “freedom” and mention his name to you.. thus you’d know it’s him.”

Unbeknownst to Nkrumah, this part of his speech among other parts never made it to official records.

******************

Ghana, 61 years later

Fitzgerald Amartey, the old man popularly known as Old Soldier Never Dies, sat in his dingy living room on a sunny Tuesday afternoon watching the music videos that were being aired on his TV set. He was just telling his co-tenants again for the hundredth time about how the purported Nkrumah’s speech on Independence Day years ago wasn’t a true representation of what he said; about how he was there at the grounds himself and that Nkrumah spoke of his vision.

“Yes his vision is to see the entire Africa free.. he said it in the video” they’d often retort.

“No no.. not that vision. He had a vision of a young man with dreads and lips thick like abɛnkwan” he’d reply and have them laughing. They never took him serious.

“I’ll never die till this I see this vision man.” he’d often tell them.

Sitting behind his TV, he had no patience for the current trend of music these days. He didn’t get them at all. Furiously grabbing his TV remote to sift through the channels, he paused with a skip of a heartbeat as the words of the current song playing, caught his attention.

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.
Shatta. Shatta. Shatta. Shatta. Shatta. Shatta. Shatta.
My name is Shatta Wale.
Freedom.

Staring at the screen dumbfounded, his mind replayed the words he heard sixty-one years ago… “- there’s another who will come after me. He’ll come to you with dreads as I’ve described. He’d do great things, throw this country into a state of frenzy euphoria – he’d preach “freedom” and mention his name to you.. thus you’d know it’s him.”

“Ohmaigordd. Heet is ‘im.”

Fitzgerald Amartey, popularly known as Old Soldier Never Dies, dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Image created by author

A Bloody Hell…

The year is 1877, a group of five vampires have come together to establish a hospital. The establishment, brilliantly schemed, is to accord them access to a steady supply of blood – blood they don’t have to hunt for.

The idea, conceived as a result of their utter laziness though they’d never admit to it, was to have relatives of patients donate blood in lieu of payment of the hospital bills.

They later realize however, that managing a hospital, and a blood bank for that matter, is far more tedious than they had imagined.

In the first three weeks, they experience a boom in patronage, as news of a seemingly free healthcare facility was attending to patients with just blood donation as payment. As such, they quickly reach the allocated quota of blood they need to keep them fed comfortably for a month, even with all the snack-blood in-between.

Per their research, they realize donated-blood takes about a-month-and-two-weeks to expire and as such, they couldn’t keep more than the allocated quota at a time.

In the face of apparent flop of their well-thought-out scheme, the five vampires once again come up with another idea, brilliant at the time, to solve their dilemma. A Blood Debiting System:

Relatives of patients who aren’t charged immediately with blood donation, are to come back later to make requital as the blood bank gets depleted.

Thus, the operation flourishes again albeit for a brief period of time.
As it turns out, humans are quick to forget and misconstrue the delicate balance of favor and render of service. Relatives of now-cured-patients, continually fail to heed to the summons to fulfill their obligation of blood donation, now due.

Gradually, the establishment fails and collapses. In the aftermath, the founders realize they put in more work running an allegedly ‘less-tedious’ way to feed themselves than it would’ve actually cost them to hunt.

The year now is 1878, a group of five vampires have come together to hunt. Each holds a copy of a list of debtors – debtors whom they’ve come to collect pints of blood from, with interest.

A bloody hell begins…

Dearly Departing…

I got raped again today. And this time, I  enjoyed it. Not from the continuous unsolicited thrusting of penis into my vagina, but I enjoyed it because I’ve finally found a way – a way to finally exact my revenge. The conviction was the aphrodisiac that sent me reeling over the edge. He noticed the difference in my responsiveness this time around almost immediately – this time, I didn’t struggle. I just succumbed to the ordeal. Struggling was futile, something I realized seven rapes ago. It was always the same penis. The same overpowering strength that quelled my resistance. The same grunts that disgusted me to my very core. The same face. The very same face that I’d to come hate so much. That sneer on his face that seemed to perpetually taunt me whenever I came from the engagement. As if my cumming justified his unjust actions.

I’ve come to hate my body now. My body betrays me whenever he pounces on me. My “no“s have become so feeble, I believe he doesn’t even hear them now. It’s really hard to continuously plead, when you’re being pounded senseless trying to catch your breath in-between thrusts. I wish I could catch every involuntarily moan that escaped my lips and swallow them back.

But no matter, tomorrow he’ll die. Tomorrow, I’ll lose my husband. Tomorrow, I’ll become a widow.

Last Seen Online

Image created by author

 

Hey
You up?

typing

Oh looks like you are

Yea I am
Lol what’s up?

I’m going to be very straight and quite blunt with you…

typing


typing

Okay

Do you like me or nah?
Cuz I do you
And…

typing

typing 

typing

typing

typing 

Ei. Are you writing an essay?

typing

typing

typing

typing

typing

typing

typing

You know what? Never mind.

Ah?
You’ve been typing for the past 5 minutes
And that’s what you sent?
Did you delete all that you typed?

😐

😕

The thing is, I find you very attractive,
Not just physically,
Your mind is beautiful too..
It’s witty and quirky in the right places
And that just cuts it for me.
I do enjoy the times we spend together
And I know you do too.
I used to believe you do like me too,
But to be frank, I’m not so sure now.
Why? I can’t really put a finger to it,
But it’s the little things you do and don’t do..
That’s what’s putting me in this state of uncertainty.
You never uphold your promises of callbacks;
Your “I’ll text you back”s only seem to test my patience
Because I keep waiting to hear from you.
One time you seem happy to talk to me,
At other times too you seem just fine to go on for so long
without even a check-in.
It often feels like I’m the only one pushing for this to be a thing.
I’m not looking for something perfect, I just need effort,
But I don’t feel that from you,
Almost to the point of uninterest..
Unless of course you not feeling it like I am,
Can’t fault you for that.
So can you let me know what’s up with you?
There’s so much more I’d like to have with you,
But I’m trying to hold myself back because,
I don’t know what is going on your side.
If you’re feeling the vibe like I do, then just get down with it..
Because I don’t want to be involved in another episode of
Pseudo-crush type relationship.
Something.

So what’s up?

Queer Fetish : Twilight In Ashaley Botwe

shaver

Image created by author

(…based on a true story, or not quite.)

The receding rays of the setting sun gave the room an eerily pleasant appearance, as the shuttered louvers cast shadows of horizontal projections across the entire space of the room.
He sauntered to the Binatone fan and turned the knob-control all the way to level 5, putting it on full blast. Well, you couldn’t blame him, he needed the air to clear up all the hair he was going to trim in a bit.
He looked at his new muse sprawled across the bed and smiled at the sexual gratification he was about to achieve.

He wouldn’t say he often achieved this because he didn’t quite meet a lot of girls who were willing to indulge in his queer-not-so-queer fetish; but alas.
He hopped onto the bed and lay next to her, a dirty grin playing across his lips. He felt her quiver a bit beneath his gaze but he assured her he’d be gentle. He moved in to kiss her and was exhilarated to find her very responsive.

“This would be good” he mused and soon enough, he had his hands exploring her body like galamsey operators in a newly discovered mining area in Akim Oda. 
His hand slid beneath the waistband of her undies only to meet a thick bush – the thickest he had come across so far. He felt her tense a bit waiting for his reaction. He cringed-not, and to show his satisfaction he sensually ravaged her lips as if they were made of his favorite type of fried plantain. He hadn’t seen it yet but his lurid imaginations had him moaning in anticipation and his erection throbbed in agreement.

He got off the bed, opened his top drawer and brought a fresh unopened pack of shaving sticks. Randomly, he picked a stick and hopped back onto the bed.

“Slide the panty off erh,” he goaded her, “you can trust me baby.” 

He tapped the Gillette stick against the wooden board continuously, as if expressing his excitement in Morse Code… he always gets a kick from that kɛkɛkɛkɛkɛ sound whenever he raps the plastic stick against a wooden surface.

He blew two large bursts of air into the small space between the blades of the stick to complete his signature move.
He then looked at her with glowing wonder in his eyes and asked her..

“Ohemaa wopɛ style bɛn?” 

*

*

*

Glossary-not-glossary 

“Ohemaa wopɛ style bɛn?”  – What type of shave do you want, my queen?

Unexpecting The Expected 

He went over the lines again, making it the sixty-seventh time.

Adjoah.. In all this time we’ve spent with each other, I’ve come to love and cherish you for who you are. And this feeling grows more and more each passing d- Nah. That line doesn’t sound cool enough. Rephrase. It must be dope.

He looked up at her just as she made her way towards the table, back from the washroom. He smiled at her. She smiled back.

***

She had to excuse herself briefly for a washroom break to freshen up because she strongly felt he was finally going to man up and do it today. Everything just felt right: The Mēkrifo dinner-for-two at this plush restaurant, the slight tension and nervousness on his side, and the way he absent-mindedly kept licking his lower lip.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror,  tucked a seemingly loose strand of hair behind her right ear and winked. She loved the way her red dress clung tightly to her body, accentuating her  curves. She even wore makeup – a shade of red lipstick, something she rarely did. She made her way back to their table, pretty enthused.

She caught him smiling at her the moment she stepped out of the washroom, and she smiled back trying not to get overwhelmed by the rush of emotions coursing through her body at that moment.

***

He licked his lower lip once more, oblivious that she’d taken note of the act.

“Ermm Adjoa.. I.. I have something to say.. urmmm.. I have something important to ask you.”

He noticed how she calmly dropped her fork and gave him her full attention. He licked his lip once more.

“Yes.. I’m listening..” She offered, trying to coax him to continue talking.

“In all this time we’ve spent together.. I mean, with each other.. Well I guess it’s same the same thing.. together, with each other..” 

He paused.

“How do you make your bowl of cereal? Do you pour your milk first before adding the cereal or it’s cereal before milk?”

He looked at her face and chuckled. “Haha.. Why do you look so forlorn? It’s almost as if you were expecting me to ask something else…”

He clenched his fist around the ring he held under the table, then he pocketed it.

Image created by author

Feelings, Literature and Adulterous Things 

“I know this situation is only temporary, and it’s not going to last… but I can enjoy the time we have together for what it is. I can’t say I won’t be a little sad when you do go back to him though.”

“Why do you have to go ahead and ruin the moment? Who gave you that permission?” She snuggled closer to him and cupped his face with her hand, gently ruffling his beard. “It almost sounds as if you just quoted from a book.” She gave him a peck on his shoulder and rested her head on his chest.

“I did, as a matter of fact.. doesn’t imply I  don’t mean it though..” He pulled her in closer into a one-arm embrace, the bed squeaking a bit from the movement. “I’d give a lot to make this last a while longer.”

“Ugh.. You seriously need to work on your post-coital conversation skills,” she playfully scolded him, “It sucks. You suck.” She giggled. She felt him tense a bit when she said that and almost regretted it.

“Oh? I suck?” In a swift movement he heaved himself upright on the bed and yanked the duvet out of her hand, revealing she was still nude from their prior engagement.

“Oh please please please” she feigned trepidation.

“Your acting sucks, chale” he laughed as he tried to pin her arms down on the bed. “It clearly shows that you want this.”

“You know me too well..” she coyly concurred, “let’s see how well you suck at this.” She pulled him closer towards her.

“Was that a pun and an oxymoronic phrase at the same damn time?!” he looked at her with a devilish grin growing on his face.

“Oh I was taught well.” She winked.

He paused and looked hardly at her face, a bit pensive. “I’m going to miss you when your husband returns from this trip of his..” With that, he buried his face in her bosom.