When all odds are against you

If you tossed a coin myriad times in a gamble waiting for the tail to win  in support of me, then you would be waiting probably for eternity. I was just a quintessence of truancy. I virtually missed all except when lectures was to be handled by my academic tutor. Despite the unfriendly nature of the semester, I enjoyed a brisk semester by ricochetting from one party to another. I hardly missed any birthday party. 

Not that my alarm was faulty; my alarm had tintinnabulated with a shrill tone, but I had slept in profundity that I could not even feel the weight of a placard that had fallen on my face, and the amazing part was that the sound had lasted for almost an hour. I took a stimulant- caffeine- to help him stay awake throughout the night but all I did became dead in the water. I woke up after two hours when my exam for the day was about commencing. So I wore the shirt I wore the ereyesterday, slipped my foot into one of my old sneakers and hurried to the exam centre. It is amazing how all these menaces never inclined me to fret. 

With my equableness I strutted to join the queue waiting for my turn to enter. My first two touches, one on each side of my pocket, was a big wake-up call to me. I had left my student ID card in my cubicle! “Really?” I asked myself. I pleaded for consideration from the security man, but the security man did not grant me favour. I was only made to enter after I explained things to my academic tutor. 

I strolled through the lanes searching for my seat. I found my seat eventually at the back when one guy signalled me. I sat, shaded my index number and all other protocols. It was at the course code session I realised I had learnt a different course. My heart began to thump. I began to process my prayers, and fortunately or unfortunately for me, I happened to sit in tandem to the best student of my class, Samuel. I made the cross sign and sighed greatly. “B))dee33 ooo.”(lol) 

Coincidentally, samuel’s paper was skewed to the right so I could see unto it with no obstruction. Under twenty minutes, I finished the paper and did not even bother skimming through to look out for and correct mistakes. Not even a cursory look! Before, I had seen an inscription as “W23” on the top right corner of samuel’s scantrom, but it never pricked or tickled me. I stood and submitted my paper. It was then I knew the meaning of that inscription on samuel’s paper. 

Each one was supposed to check the footpage of page 8 for a secret code and then rewrite on the top of the scantrom. I had not done that. Quickly, my hands began to shake. My lips were jiggling in tetany. “Gentleman, what is it? Submit your paper and leave!” A satiric voice told me. I looked to see my mates and, then, up. Tears started to trickle down. I had copied wrongly. My secret code was Y12. What was I going to do?

My pen cries; Guest post

When dryness parted ways with Circle

And all extinguishers were upset

Innocent souls bade untimely bye 

To us who survived.

When the pillars of Melcom

Could no longer hold it to position

And licensed it ruins

The story of life was once again

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Told by an idiot;

Souls left this phase of the world

To its second.

I know of just two seasons 

In my homeland Ghana.

Yet a time came

That we registered a third.

The season which birthed too much pain;

The suicide season.

 Let me pause a minute 

To console the affected;

Family, friends and the entire human race. 

I wish I could whisper

To them in their graves

That IT still lives

The very reason they died for,

Still lives. 

Sorry if the world was too small

To contain your quandaries.

The pain of the oppressed 

Is counted joy for the oppressor

The sanity of the innocent 

Never ceases to be naivity for the infidel. 

My pen cries tears of loneliness 

I am lonely like Amma Darko is.

If my modified breathe can’t call for a reform, 

Then my pen, my sword, 

Should stab this albatross of mishap

That hangs around our necks to death.

I sit on my couch 

To recollect those memories in tranquility 

Those days 

When we sit outside

From dusk to dawn

To enjoy granny’s tales

But what do we see today? 

The vices of this world

Have placed curfews on us. 

My pen cries weary tears for reform

The world can be a little better, 

If not the best.

My pen critiques negligence and indifference 

Let’s not be architects of our own problems.

The Tabernacle

After genuflecting before the altar and sending my prayers in procession to the Father, who is seated in the heavenly places, it dawned on me to read Exodus 25 through to chapter 30, and in this I realised something great. Something precious. Something eternal. 

“Make a sanctuary for me, and I will dwell among them.” Exodus 25:8

“Make this tabernacle and all its furnishings exactly like the pattern I will show you.” Exodus 25:9

After skimming through this whole chapters, I understood all things except for one thing- The Tabernacle. So I decided to seek after God, and this was the realisation: 

The Tabernacle is like a football field, with short pillars (60 of them) arranged round the field with a flat board linking adjacent pillars. Each pillar had two hooks through which ropes were passed to fasten them to the field.
​”And then I will dwell among the Israelites and be their God. They will know that I am the Lord their God, who brought them out of Egypt so that I might dwell among them.” Saith the Lord

A zoom of one short pillar revealed a cap-like structure and a foot-like structure. The cap-like structure was made of silver, while the foot-like structure was made of brass. And the shaft of the pillar was made of gold. 

I became more confused, and I was like ‘what does these all stand for, spiritually?’ 

But the spirit of the Lord did not dare to leave me in limbo, but rather explained to me:

The silver represents grace; the brass, judgement; and the gold (which represents Power) shaft, The saint. And the link between adjacent pillars represents the bond unifying all saints. 

The gold shaft (the saint) standing on the brass (judgement) and making it its footstool means that all saints have overcome judgement, and that no judgement awaits saints: For we have overcome. 

However, the gold shaft (the saint) beneath the silver cap (grace) means that all saints are under the grace of God, and that no one is greater than the grace of God Almighty.

The thumping of my heart begun to wane, and a smile flickered across my face. 

This gives me hope that, truly and indeed, I have overcome judgement!!! I hope you believe too.

#HappyEaster#GlorybetoGod#WeAreSaints

Are women naturally subordinated to men?

 The convention of women in our traditional or modern societies being subordinated to men dates back to time immemorial.It has been so since creation although it might not be viewed in the same lens by everyone.However,this does not imply that women are totally robbed of their powers as humans in society.It is simply nature that has conducted a segregation excercise to put men in a higher position to dominate over women. 

The concept of patriarchy is one that has become the proverbial albatross that hangs around the necks of many philosophers in their quest to unravel the mystery behind the assymmeteric men-women power relationships.Patriarchy is an institutionaliized system wherein women are in all spheres of life subordinated to men.This system is inherent to the Ghanaian traditional cultural set up. 

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Inferring from the etymology of the word “patriarchy”, one would realize that men are naturally born to take dominion over women and they are in turn required to subordinate themselves to men.It is therefore believed that subordination is also inherent in women and thus this pattern cannot be changed. Contrastingly, the likes of Frederick Engels (1884) argued that women’s subordination to men is man-made which sprang from the development of private property and hence has the tenacity to change. 

Also, in the family system, men play the highest role as heads of the family and steer all affairs of the family.In the Ghanaian traditional system,married women are obliged to take on the surnames of men (husbands) as a symbol of ownership.Thus the average Ghanaian woman loses her name right after marriage and this apportions a measure of dominance to men.Men/husbands reserve the right to give identity to their children.In the Akan naming system, it is the man and his family who present the names for their children. It is only in rare cases that men would allow their wives to propose names for their children. 

The creation order of God naturally puts men above women.The Bible records in Genesis 2:21, “And the Lord God caused a sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept; and he took one of his ribs and closed up the flesh thereof. And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman.” The first woman was thus created from the rib of man and through this,he is bound to have lordship over the woman. 

Notwithstanding the above submission, the Bible in Ephesians and colossians explicitly admonishes women in their married state as wives to submit themselves to their husbands.This has set the tone for the kind of hegemmonic relationship that should exist between men and women. Automatically, women are subordinated to men, and they consequently dominate over women. 

Gender has naturally presented two distinct characters in the human race theatre; the masculine and the feminine.This natural division has in one way or the other defined the powers of each side and drawn boundaries around it. Gender plays a key role in men’s dominance and women’s subordination. It pre-determines the capabilities and responsibilities of men and women in the society.Thus biological differences is not only what distinquishes men from women but rather includes the social classification which sets women below men and establish the dominance-subordination pattern.

The Twenty-first Century; guest post by Maame Akua Annan

Time is fast fleeting

And as the world transmutes

A generation has unfurled

Where civilisation

Gets more palpable.

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Is there innocence in this age?

Little does the world know

Youngsters acting mature

Howbeit nurtured in a virtuous ambience

Grow to be peccant.

Welcome to the new age;

Where precocity is misjudged

To be prudence

Civilisation collides with culture

And probity traded for bread.

Are you then culpable in this age

Where innocence is misconstrued

As primitivity?

Or principles underestimated

To be mere fallacies

Value or Money?

So I haven’t written for some time now. Ok… 
After a heavy fatty meal one afternoon, treading the streets, an intelligent question dropped on the foyer of my mind. I began to cogitate about it for about ten minutes. I had my answer on the eighth minute, but I decided to solicit two gentlemen who shortly passed by me. 

Considering the swift motion of theirs coupled with their sweaty face, I needed no one to tell me they were in a hurry to reach their destination. But I managed to seize them for about five minutes. 

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Whilst one of them–can’t remember which of them though–had the expression of ‘what’s all this’ drawn on his face, the other had no expression at all; he was just equable. 

So I asked them what they thought about, “value” or “money”? After positing the question, the taller of the two, without cogitating, answered impetuously. 

“Money.” 

His counterpart stood in a pensive mood. And after grappling with it for some time, he managed to choose ‘value’. I refrained from probing the tall guy the more, but then asked the taller why he chose ‘money’. 

Money as we all know, he started, is good. Everyone wants money; not value. Besides, you can’t enjoy life with value. 

His assertion seemed right though. But I put in to him.

But don’t you think your value pays? Or, if I am to go according to your own words, doesn’t the value of money pay? Or, perhaps, let me explain value better to you. Your value is how much worth you carry. In other words, take a look at this pertinent question. If the worth of two things were ghc 500.00 and priceless, which of the two would you have a predilection for? The ghc 500.00 or the priceless? 

Throwing these myriad of questions at him catapulted him into a state of introspection. He began nodding his head, first with widened eyes, and then a flickering smile across his face. So I decided to reiterate the question. ‘value’ or ‘money’? And this time he re-echoed loudly, ‘value!’

The Maternal Love; Guest post by Maame Akua Annan

Mother,

When nature paved way for my formation,
You received and kept me in your womb.

When the womb could no longer bear me,

You delivered me to see the world.

Mother,

You consecrated me to Christ

Since the world couldn’t allot me salvation.

You sent me to school

Inasmuch as the house was not conducive

For an auspicious futurity.

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Mother,

When the world castigated me,

You spurred me on.

But when I was led awry

By the delights of the world,

You chided me.

Dear mother,

I have pitched a monument of you

In my noble heart

That I will never forget you,

Your great love

And consummate care.

True Love; Guest post by Maame Akua Annan

​It doesn’t cost a penny to say hi
Neither does it fetch a dime to say bye

Cedi may Appreciate

Dollar might depreciate

But true love is inexpugnable.

It doesn’t call for a day to tie the knot

Neither does it clamour for a night to untie it

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Days chameleon to nights

And moments to seasons

But true love is adamant.

It never took the Saviour a century to live

Neither did it take Him a millennium to die

But the very substance that actuated the Father

To bestow His only son to the world

Is true love which never fades.

It never took your life to meet me

Neither did it take my sight to see you

But it will only cost true love to establish a dyad

And this love never abates

Memoirs of a teenager

​Above all mine is a love anecdote.
Like all other love stories, it involves chance, and a little of gravity.

CHAPTER 1

IF THINGS HAD BEEN DIFFERENT, I’D BE called Nathaniel or Gyamera, and I’d have loved to be a member of the presecan fraternity, and probably would have had chapping lips year round. But I’m not Nathaniel or Gyamera, ’cause on June, 15, 2013 I (together with some mates of mine) was delivered from Cape Coast to Legon. This is why you are not, at the moment, reading from WordPress, the inspiring true account of a presecan called Nathaniel, who, things being different, might be named Zagga or Kane.

Full account of the story:

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It all began on June, 15, 2013 when many schools met or gathered on the various campuses of legon. Was this throng of schools an indication of any annual something? Hitherto, you’ll not know that’s why you should choose not to speculate, but to just keep silent and continue reading this piece.

At exactly 5.00pm, we had started making footprints towards the cafeteria. It is located, approximately, in the middle of the university.

A brief description of the cafeteria: The Cafeteria has long benches and tables. They are arranged such that each long table has two long benches slapping it on either side, horizontally. And they are arranged in two long columns( that’s if you are standing right in the middle facing one far end.) Aside the area where the benches and tables are, there’s an inn. A place where, we, the students marched to collect our food.

*****

“This place looks like a hut in the backwoods,” a friend of mine, Ndur, whispered to me.

“hahaha.” I laughed.You know why? Not that it’s any of your business, but because before, I had also had same thought. But frankly speaking, you would have said same( that’s if you are kind). If not, a kraal.

There were many students taking their food from the counter. This had gone on until it was left with an ‘all-girls’ school. They had this light-green kilt-like uniform with a yellow collar and waist.  You wondering about this school, right?( duh).So we had to join them.

“Take your food please,” a female’s voice said helpfully. I had turned my head over my right shoulder to reply a mate of mine who had asked me a question.

“Thank you.” I replied.She was the last amongst her equals, and I was the first amongst my equals too. What a coincidence? Could this be an inadvertently fortuitous event? Maybe sometimes.She walked past me to sit with her mates, of course to enjoy her meal. After about a minute or two, we( my mates and I) had gone to sit to enjoy the supper too. Occasionally, I took glimpse of her. You can imagine the kind of things which went on inside this my small cephalos?

She had trimmed her hair. She has round, blazing eyes as if she has an eye protector on. She is cute; not too short, and the most fascinating feature I love about her is her pubescent body. Lest I forget, she has  enough butts and knockers.

I have always loved to see girls with hairy hands and legs. In simple terms, I’m indifferent to glaborous bodies. Don’t bother yourself thinking why? Because, myself I don’t know, but maybe because they are distributed sparsely on such areas of my body. After about fifteen minutes, they had finished eating, and preparing to go to their of room of residence. I planned to meet her, but I decided against it. I have always thought that things happened best at their own appropriate times. So I planned not to meet her

.They entered their bus nimbly. Later, I saw her through the less,very less, frosted glass. She was sitting at the rear end of the bus; she was quiet.

Momentarily, the sound of their engine faded away.

CHAPTER 2

The next day was the D-day for the official commencement of the National Science and Maths Quiz.The NSMQ is an educational program organized annually for, basically, graduate Senior High Students. Previously, a contest was organized between two schools, each consisting of three representatives, and it usually begins at 9.00am GMT. Presently, it’s been changed. It’s now organised among three schools, each consisting of two students.Each school is entitled to some set of questions. A majorly answered question attracts three points for free. I’m still wondering how ‘free’ that is if one has to do work by answering?(duh).There are times when a major question is not answered correctly so it is passed on for a bonus mark (that’s if any school answers).

At 7.30am prompt, the various schools had gathered at the cafeteria to  take their breakfast. This time around HER school, WGHS , was the first to take because they had a contest to battle. My group was the last to take.One lucky thing was that SHE was not part of the final squad (but she was not a moron) her school presented for the quiz so she actually was left behind with some few mates of hers. I saw her from a distance. She had her glasses on. Her beauty had become indescribable. Continue reading In short, she looked ‘mwah.’

“My salvation time and day has come, and is now,” I interior monologued. I guess you were thinking same? Brilliant on your part if you also thought same. I walked ambly to HER. SHE was sitting alone, and eating. I shivered a little whilst I was walking to her. I’m not exaggerating; I’m only telling you what I truly experienced.Finally I saw myself sitting right opposite to her. I have always had this funny feeling:

“My first approach to a girl would be a debacle because some girls, at times, make guys who come thereunto look like Jerks or, synonymously, dolts.” However, you will not know until you’ve given it a try. The dialogue:

“h…i,” I said, with my mouth filled with gravity.

“Hi,” SHE responded.

“I’m Zagga,” I continued, and stretched forth my hands for a handshake.

“I’m Valencia,” she said too and shook my hands.

“You have such nice and charming looks,” I added.

“Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

All this while, I was looking straight into her eyes. The reason being that anyone who broke an eye contact was seen as ‘shy’; I didn’t want that.For about three minutes, I hadn’t finished handshaking. Her palm was soft, and this reminded me of one line of a poem: 

“No one, Not even the rains, has such soft hands.” I, then, quickly admitted that, indeed, some poems are true; not EXAGGERATIONS!

Simultaneously, Kwame Acheampong was looking for me. Kwame is one closest friend I met way back in school, and he was our quiz coordinator. How we met was a mystery. It all began one day when his mother gave me a ‘lift’ from Mfantsipim( we had all gained admission into this great institution) to a bus station. Not Chapel square. Not Tantri, but somewhere farthest. There were so many ‘amanifo)’ , but…I just saw myself sitting in this woman’s 4×4 car.( amazing, isn’t it?) We conversed and she told me about her son, Kwame Acheampong.

Fortuitously in form 1, kwame and I met in the same class, 1E. We liked each other , but I liked him the more because he was, undeniably, a good student. Not academic only, but also in general matters ( including girls stuff.)Seeing us ( val and I) under a shady tree, Kwame never approached us. I later found out that it was his style not to stiffle words between two people ‘in love.’

“But we are not in love.” I wisecracked. He usually had this utterances of his so he recapitulated, “Hoh masa, nea ay3 yi de3.” 

Actually within me,  I wanted this ‘in love’ thing to happen fast. But naturally it won’t.(if it does, law of entropy becomes invalid,I reasoned.)( Haha). It’s all a matter of time.Valencia and I chat for quite long. We talked about christian life, a little about love stories, school life, freshmen, sophomores; not forgetting Interco and Superzonal competitions.

“You rarely attended the superzonals,” I asked curiously. 

“Yh. You right.” she continued, “I seldom did because it involved many schools and besides, my school was hardly first.Most often second; the worst being fourth and, you know, my school  was too great to suffer such blunder.” She ended her last statement with a smile, which supposedly meant she was being ludicrous, and that actually saved her from my critique.

“You fear crow…?” Just before I could mention it, she broke in. “I don’t fear crowd, just that…just that I’m allergic to  them.” She said hilariously. We all burst out with laughter. Just within that shortest time of laughter, I could realize only one thing. HER DIMPLES! They were as round and dented as an erythrocyte, but only that they were slightly conspicuous, even, with the unaided eye. Though I’m not the type that fancy dimples, I admired hers spur of the moment.

In all this the time took, my wrist watch had changed position facing downwards so I turned it under the pretense of looking at the time, but what I actually did was study Valencia’s reflection. I was trying  to figure her out, and sometimes it’s easier to do that when people don’t know that you’re looking at them. I watched her watching me. She had a new look, even better than before. She had changed her feminine pompadour. Her lips looked soft. All of  a sudden I realized that I was caressing her. Just when I decided to stroll with her, one of her physics tutors called for her. Her school had finished their contest and they came out victorious; How could I have known? Well, I could only tell from her tutor’s reaction and tone.

“Congrats.” I complimented.

“Congrats on…?” She asked unconsciously.

“On your school winning the contest.” I said

“Ohh yhh. Thank you. I wish you the very best in yours too.” She wished me.We stood, and then she gave me a warm hug. I held her palm as we walked. I left her palms just when we got to the door of her tutor.

“Catch you later.” She mouthed.

“That would be my pleasure.” I said finally and broke away.