Anas Aremeyaw Anas​: The Truth Hunter

A star celebrated across the globe rose in Bimbilla
His name is sang enviably with vuvuzela
And it goes as far as Venezuela
He's not a sakawa bloke known for mere Toyota Corolla
He rides in Tundra in search of eaters of bad kola
All out for the truth even if it's scintilla
For he sees corrupt society as ugly as gorilla
He injects treatment into society through his undercover canulla
To cure the ills that plague us like a chamber pot of "faeces in duula"

The Pride of
Bimbilla
North and
Ghana

He goes after evil doers not just for blame
But in his own claim
"To name
And shame"
And that put their reputation and anus in the citizenry's flame
Leaving irate others gnashing their teeth to maim
He has one clear aim
To purge society of any form of fleecing game
Game that make the weak weaker and lame
And no shenanigans can defeat the feat that bequeathed him fame

The Pride of
Bimbilla
North and
Ghana

His undercover expeditions are very kamikaze
His life really is a maze
Solvers of the maze always go amaze
For he never seize to set Ghana ablaze
His face mask is even now everyone’s craze
His face is no place to gaze
He's no fog but haze

The Pride of
Bimbilla
North and
Ghana

His recent exposé is a grudge
With many a Ghanaian judge
But he seems not to budge
Because he wields the Truth Badge
Against the gods' sacrilege
The gods reasoned a "merge"
Running helter-skelter in their pantaloons beige
With owl glasses in court is sue upon sue without gauge
Grandma Sana is pounding yam for goat soup at her age
Little did she know that some people are sweating inside Uncle Anas' fridge

© Hanan-Confidence Abdul
28th September, 2015

A eulogy to Ghana and world's most revered investigative journalist of our time. May he never die. May God immune Tiger Eye PI from all the machinations of corruption juggernauts. I think he  deserves the highest national award, The Order of Volta. Thanks to Abdul Malik Kweku Baako​ for giving us a more powerful replica of himself, Anas.

45 Key Points of Life

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short – enjoy it.

4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and family will.

5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Stay true to yourself.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.

12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye, but don't worry, God never blinks.

16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful. Clutter weighs you down in many ways.

18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

19. It's never too late to be happy. But it’s all up to you and no one else.

20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy clothes. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.

23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.

24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive

29. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

36. Growing old beats the alternative of dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood.

38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.

41. Envy is a waste of time. Accept what you already have, not what you need

42. The best is yet to come.

43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

44. Yield.

45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

Vagina, I'm sorry!

Hmm! When I was a kid, I thought a pregnant woman's baby will eventually be delivered through the anus. I didn't even think it was odd: odd in a sense that the baby will have to fight a shit battle before coming out. I never bothered to ask because I believe strongly in my conviction. I simply thought a baby's head was just too big to come out of the vagina.

The vaginas I used to see as a kid was just a tiny pie of my co-kids and the only use I attribute to it was mainly for urination (micturation). I couldn't appreciate the reality that the vagina grows as we grow too. I felt no matter the size of the vagina, it could at least allow some urine to pass out.

Today, I know better. And I've taken and given all the credit from the anus to the vagina. Now, I know much about the anus particularly the anal sphincter, I know how impossible it's for the anus to attempt child-bearing. The anal sphincter, a mass of firmly contracted muscles that mainly opens under a "squat-push", will undergo irreparable traumatisation if it dares delivery of even a zygote.

The vagina, for a long time was wrongly uncredited because of my ignorance. Eventually, I got to know that babies are delivered through the vagina. And trust me, I was metagrabolised! Well, don't gyrate over my choice of "metagrabolised" over "surprised". We're talking about the almighty vagina and it deserves some perplexing and discombobulating diction.

So, why was I metagrabolised? I still felt the head was too big for a passage through the vagina. But I was absolutely convinced that "doing" a baby is not an anus affairs even though I had no knowledge of the anal sphincter then.

I also thought philosophical. If the whole complex nine-month long story of childbearing started at the vagina, then it won't be a big deal to end at the vagina.

At long last, I had a fine opportunity to confirm that the vagina was the deliverer when my mum was about to "do" one of my sisters. I sat in the room as she turns like a fish in water. She was in labour pains. I sat in the room where the traditional birth attendants (TBAs) struggled with her. Everyone was too busy to have noticed my presence. I buried my head into mum's cupboard searching for nothing. I wanted her to get to the active phase, the time the baby is coming out, before I redirect my eyes to the final showdown.

This opportunity was wasted by my father when he eventually entered the room and ordered me to get out. My dad was no-nonsense man. I vamoosed. But he never followed me out. Well, he was the initiator of the war at climax and I guess he wanted to see what his deeds have troubled an innocent daughter of Eve.

I went out. I knew my dream of seeing with my naked eyes a childbearing process was over. If I wasn't allowed to see mum's whose mum will I be allowed to see. I lost a home match.

Now I know. I've seen the resilient vagina doing it the way she wants. I've witnessed several women delivered in labour theatres. Indeed, the French are right - seeing is believing.

However, it wasn't the motivation for going into nursing. But I will grab any opportunity under any circumstances to become a midwife (midhusband).

Well, some of my friends might know that the baby comes from the vagina. But they might be wondering how the big head comes out.

It's simple. In the active phase of labour, the baby's head, in 96% cases, descends into the pelvis of the mother. Pelvis is a "ring shape" bony frame that decides the ease of passage of the baby's head.

The skull is made up of flat bones at birth. One in front, (frontal), one at the back (occipital) and a pair, one on either side of right and left sides (parietal). The head (skull) faces serious opposition of passage when it engages with the pelvis. These flat bones have to overlap to reduce the diameter of the skull for easy passage through the pelvis. The process of the bones overlapping one another is termed moulding. Moulding is a necessary evil for delivery. However, when the flat bones over overlap, then the child's brain will be mangled and stillborn will be the end story. Babies who overstay their welcome in the womb are often difficult to deliver because the flat bones after nine months becomes hardened and somewhat unmovable.

The vagina is a hero. Once the head moves through the pelvis, the vagina will put in her best to contain the baby. So, the Odododiodoo (trouble spot) is at the pelvis and not the vagina. However, when the baby's head is super big perhaps in hydrocephalus condition, the vagina has to be "increased".

Increasing the vagina is very simple. The lower end of the vagina is professionally cut towards the anus or the lateral part is cut towards the groin. After delivery, the cut will be sutured and handled as a wound. Increasing the vagina is done to create more space for baby "headmasters" and "headmistresses".

As a kid, I was told that when a woman is going to give birth, all women in the world will contribute a small portion of their vaginas to her. Trust me, I believed it. It's great to be young indeed. You believe everything. Now I know it was a myth.

I'm truly sorry to the vagina for my long ignorance about her fortitude and endurance. To the men, next time you want to scorn a vagina, think twice. You were probably a headmaster. Uh-huh!

Thanks to Obstetrics and Gynaecology and Madam Tengbago for enlightening me so well on the vagina.

  

It won't be a bad initiative instituting a day to celebrate the vagina every year - World's Vagina Day - to extol her virtues.  

The Good Old Days!

I got to Kamina Barracks and the thick crowd dawned on me that it was Easter Monday. A day for the observation of picnic across the length and breadth of the country.

As I move on completely unexcited, I was gripped with nostalgic feelings of yesteryears. The days I were called Hanan Dzeridzeri. I just couldn't believe a whole Easter Monday could elude me someday. I was so preoccupied into utter oblivion about the whole cacophony about the event.

At a point of my reminiscence, the saying, "there is time for everything" came to settle my befuddled thoughts. Nonetheless, I still find it difficult to overcome as one time aficionado of Easter Monday Picnic.

I used to wait for Picnic with so much alacrity. I used to keep a countdown on Easter. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing that could derail my very presence on any Easter Picnic. I celebrated the Picnic as though I was a Christian. Seriously, one would've thought I was part of the mafia whose stratagem got Jesus killed. Once, I thought I could be a great grandchild of Judas Iscariot without whom the story of Easter Monday is incomplete.

Those days, three months to Easter, I will look for milk tin and create an opening in one of its top circular portions. That was my money box for saving every available coin that comes on my way. My target was to get the milk tin full by Picnic. When my target was far from attainment, my stomach will bear the brunt of starvation. These were periods my mum believed coins have legs and if wrongly placed could walk away to a hideout. On the contrary, my dad never believed coins could possibly have legs - so I never played with his coins even though he was a coinnaire. My money box was that accommodative: it accepted all coins without needlessly subjecting them to scrutiny.

A week to Easter, I will buy a blue dye for soaking my faded jeans. Then, I will wait for Tamale market day within the week to visit Aboabo market and get myself a nice top. I will go for any T-shirt marked Rock Café. There was some unexplained respect for guys who wear Rock Café branded T-shirts.

On Picnic day, every imprisoned coin will be transferred into the pocket prison for onward execution at the picnic grounds. When I remove the coins from the milk tin, I will wash it very well and then count it. Sometimes, I will count and recount it several times. The recounting moments also made me feel coins indeed have legs. Sometimes, the three month long saving could only buy a sachet of Fanyogo and a bottle of Coke.

An hour to kick start of Picnic, I will set off with my dyed jeans on foot. The money was not saved for transportation. With my friends, a conversation whiles trekking shorten the distance. If the weather was hot, then I would soiled anyone who gets closer to my dyed jeans. Many a time, some persons who had their white outfit soiled attempted beating me up but Issahaku Mohammed Baba (Aluta) was always there to rescue me with his imposing muscular height. Meanwhile, Aluta and I are same day borns. But I take solace in the Kenyan proverb that "a short man is not a boy".

First, the venue for Easter Picnics was Tamale Training College until the school could no longer withstand the sporadic violence and vandalism of college's properties. I've witnessed many ding-dong fights where the college's furniture was used as weapons.

The violence kept growing each year until the venue was moved to Holy Cross Cathedral. After three years of Picnic at the forecourt of the church, it was moved to the current venue, Kamina Barracks. Holy Cross was very small for the salmagundi of activities characterised by the event. Another reason for moving it to Kamina Barracks was to send a word of caution to bad boys that "man pass man". Go and misbehave at the Soldiers' Barracks and your ribs will never forgive you.

Lately, I hardly keep track of Easter. If it even comes to my mind, I think about how I'm going to spend the holidays resting rather than engage in the benign and short-sighted activities of the youth.

Indeed, there is time for everything!

Certificate is overhyped!

Amidst the debate of O and A Level grades amongst "intellectuals" came to my mind one of the words I learnt a decade ago. I have been using it copiously in my write-ups. Before I delve into the vocabulary point, I have this to say about this needless raging debate of certificates.

I'm not fixated fellow of certificates because I believe there are several people on the street who are worthier of the certificates we wield with self-conceited aura of pomposity. They simply didn't get the opportunity you and I had. And you know and can cite chaw of such examples.

Flashback to your Primary 6 days and ask yourself if you were the brightest in class. You probably might have amassed certificates more than the brightest fellas. You are probably well placed in society today. And those old schoolmates whom were obviously the bosses of rational thinking are still grappling with what to do, based on the social strata they found themselves. Please, spare me any motivational quote here. It's largely not because of your megabrains but the wherewithal to pay for your certificates.

Today, after SHS, every certificate is practically "buyable". Even if you don't meet the minimum requirements for any course, the fee paying option is always available.

I hate it when people (obviously with no self-confidence) feel Ph.D holders and its equivalent are beyond reproach and critique. Glorious Lord of Nazareth! Arrant nonsense!

Let me tell you a true story. My SHS 2 maths teacher was a complete zombie. This guy was a disaster to an extent that he couldn't "even" teach "common" modulo. The easiest maths concept of remainders - just obtaining remainders as answers. He couldn't work any modulo question out of the examples given in the maths textbook. He was a university graduate! I can't even remember his name except Modulo, his nickname.

Sadly, Mr Dramani, who was wizard and genius of demystifying maths concepts to students was sacked. His crime was being a post-secondary trained teacher and per the school's administration, was not qualified to teach us. We wept! He left us to teach in JHS whiles Modulo continued with his pollution of minds and destruction of Blaise Pascal's passion.

If you want to corroborate this story, ask Damigi Mohammed, Abdallah Bitamsimli, Obeng Richard et al or 2002 Batch of KASS, Tamale.

This brouhaha of academic certificate is hugely overrated and nauseating. And if we don't salvage our minds from this fixation, one day our institutions will be filled with Ph.D illiterates running amok the affairs of our nation.

Enough of this childishness, for Albert Einstein said "imagination is better than knowledge". We don't need whatever certificate to imagine. Some group of people must stop behaving as if they have seen God with their certificates. Enough is enough. I know some people will say "forget him, he doesn't have certificates". But be reminded that I have the best certificate of my life - Birth Certificate.

Now the word: Vocabulary Point

Noun: Paper tiger

1. Someone or something that appears powerful or dangerous but is not. 2. One that is outwardly powerful or dangerous but inwardly weak or ineffectual. 3. An overrated person or organisation. -Merriam Webster & Mine

Examples: (with no malice aforethought)

1. When it comes to military might, the US is a paper tiger.

2. The General Secretary has no influence in the party - he's a paper tiger.

3. Beware of paper tiger institutions masquerading as lords of the stock market.

4. Efo Kojo is paper tiger notwithstanding his rich CV.

5. Whiles the opposition touts IMANI's credentials as formidable think tank, the government feels it's a paper tiger.

6. MTN is a paper tiger in the comity of telcos.

7. Most committees set up by the government are mere paper tigers.

Sweet Lamentations

And I was left at the crossroads

Of Ebola and Boko Haram paths

Return was the only option

A near decade journey to nuptials

Landed me not in

Nirvana I ever

Dreamt of

But to the corridors of Hell

All along been

Travelling with a young hag

Judastu

I mourn in anguish

Lost my manliness to unending tears

For I lost a crutch

My brains went fragile

Doing all the wondrous thinking

Akin to a lost child

As I trek back

I was kidnapped by Time

She made me Tabula Rasa

Of tortuous moments of

Yesterday's

Gave me the open sesame

To the door of The Great Wall of China

With high Hopes of Everest

I beamed with unfading smiles

Of enviable futuristic prospects

Then appeared Judastu again

Crossed my path

Then I gnash with venom

Grind with brime and stone

More than ready to kill the ill

The Sheeje got the concept

Of a thin line between

Love and hatred

She fled to live

In the shop keeper's compound

With a wishful wish

Of a return to where

Her heart knows jolly

A possibility that will

Take the devil to go back

And apologise to God!

Then appeared an arch angel

With solemn tidings

Benign to the heart

With text of SALVATION

Embossed on her forehead

I was there again

Those funny feelings

That no pill cures

A stare at her face

And my heart somersaults

A look at her skin

And my brain cell gyrates

A hug with arms wide open

And I feel breast firmer than

Tongo rocks

Angel of Innocence

I beheld

Possibly not desecrated

For the contours are upheld

Like Milk Bush well demarcated

Then I whisper to my heart

For the umpteenth time

Don't be silly

Concentrate

Because this feeling ain't funny!

Contentment is key!

1. If you are SINGLE and keep on saying "I DON'T TRUST MEN OR WOMEN!" Remember... your mates are getting married every Sundays. Let me ask you, are they marrying spirits? Wise up!

2. If you are MARRIED and keep saying "I HATE THIS MARRIAGE!" OK! Is it not married people like you that are celebrating Gold, Silver, Diamond and even Platinum jubilee?

3. If you keep on ranting, ''I'M LEAVING MY MAN, HE CHEATED ON ME!" Please, go to town and see all the fine, cute, sexy, hot, hungry and desperate chicks waiting to snatch your man's money and property. They don't even mind sharing. Make it work, my friend!

4. Stop saying "I HATE MY JOB!" Look! 20 million people are jobless and can't even find any not to talk of keeping it! Do you want to join them?

5. You keep saying "I HATE WHERE I LIVE!" Oh please! *tears* Try visiting those locations that are flooding now, people leaving in tin/zinc shacks in winter or people living/sleeping under the bridge at night and you will be grateful to God that you even have a place to stay!

6. Some say "I AM TIRED OF THIS LIFE!" Well, go to the hospital and see people fighting for their lives! Go to the mortuary and take a look then tell me what you feel after that! The point is, be positive and believe in God, that's all that matters.

Be Blessed.

The wise mother!

My husband and I disagreed about something. I did what I have always done when I had a difference of opinion with someone. I called my Mum.

Before I could even finish my sentence, she asked me if I had prayed about it yet. Before I could respond, she told me that she would not allow me to...call her and complain about my husband to her, nor would she allow me to discuss our arguments/disagreements with her.

I sat there stunned. Then she said something that has... stuck with me for a very long time:

“My daughter, the thing is,because you love him the way you love him, when the argument is over it’s over. But, I don’t love him the way you love him, and it would be far too easy for me to pick up a grudge and carry it if I think he is wrong. You can’t do that to me, or to him. It simply isn’t fair.”

So the next time you want to narrate the fight in your marriage to a third party ask yourself these questions:

Do I love my spouse?

Does the person I’m reporting to, love them the way I do?

Will they forgive them easily the way I will?

If any of the answers are NO, then don’t pass them on to be crucified!!!

Your marriage is between you, your spouse and God Everyone else is an outsider.

Grammar Point: Portmanteau Words

English Language, as the cliché goes, is dynamic. The language has asserted its superiority by its accommodative attitude to adopt and adapt to other languages. This dynamism makes it ever esoteric to its detractors but fun to the language nerds.

Every day, thousands of new words are formed. These words may be entirely new or evolve from existing words. Formation of new words is termed neologism. Neologists, word creators, fundamentally are the erythrocytes that keep the veins of dictionaries ever functional. It takes a great deal of passion and learning at the language to be able to neologise. At least, your appreciation of syntax dynamics, word morpheme and morphology should be of a certain degree or pedigree.

Let's shift focus to the topic of the day. It's an aspect of neologism referred to as Portmanteau (words).

Portmanteau word is one formed by combining two words and their meaning. The joint parts are usually the morphemes of the words involved. Portmanteau words are used to produce a combined effect of precision, clarity and art.

The dictionary can't be revised every day to accommodate the fattening girth of portmanteau words. Until recently "fantabulous" was conspicuously missing in many dictionaries of Ivy League standards.

Nonetheless, portmanteau words abound in the dictionary. There are a lot that are unscripted too especially those of merely regional penetration.

An example is "muganomics" (Mugabe + Economics), a word that's overly used in Zimbabwe.

Before we move to evolving morphologically acceptable portmanteaus, let's take a look at some baptised portmanteaus that have gained recognition in standard lexicons.

* Motel - motor + hotel, a motel is a small budget hotel for motorist usually located at the periphery of cities or towns.

* Fantabulous - fantastic + fabulous, fantabulous as word represents an idea of impressive monumentality.

* Guestimate - guess + estimate, guestimate is an estimate that combines reasoning with guessing. For example, "Can you guestimate the price of a cement bag following the increment in petroleum products." The logophobic will prefer "educated guess".

* Brunch - breakfast + lunch, brunch is a breakfast and lunch meal taking at the same time. It is usually taken closer to lunch time. For example, "I took brunch at 10 am today."

Other portmanteau words include edutainment, infomercial, televangelist, netizen (internet + citizen), ginormous (gigantic + enormous), dancercise, religulous (religion + ridiculous), Oxbridge etc.

Now let's look at our own daily portmanteau words.

First, "shockprise", shock + surprise, has come to stay. This word is now extensively used in daily communications particularly on the social media platform. Trust me, the coming into existence of the word has brought reprieve to lazy bones and clumsy fingers on the keypad.

Pastorpreneur, pastor + entrepreneur, has reached formal usage in many circles in Nigeria. David Oyedepo and his ilk have made pastoral work as business entities to fleece their congregation to affluence. The church has become a business enterprise where many young folks in Nigeria move into as mere entrepreneurs to make money rather than preachers of the Word. The story is not very different in our own backyard so far as the Church is concerned.

Smartronics, smart + electronics, the 21st century is seeing a tremendous change from dumb electronics to smart electronics. A lot of impossible ideas have become real under the auspices of smart electronics. Now you can even check your weight by standing on your smart phone. Try it.

Gayrriage, gay + marriage, is now common in usage with the ascendancy of gay marriage in our society. Okoampa Ahoofe Jnr, a creative writing professor and an NPP hardliner has claimed ownership to word in most of his write-ups even though I couldn't confirm it with the almighty Urban Dictionary.

Other evolving portmanteau words include shockmentary, blaccent (black + accent), Twiglish (Twi + English).

A forte in portmanteau words will certainly give one an elevated podium to communicate and play with words succinctly amidst thrilling "their" audience.

As usual, it is time for the word game. So, give me your portmanteau word.

I will start

Dickenspeare, Dickens + Shakespeare: "I'm an avid consumer of Dickenspeare works."

Paga Dede

She's benign as bebe

She illumines everywhere like Yellow Cece

Her name incomplete with Dede

Her words make one giggles hehe

She dey bee keke

Her other name ends with leke not lele

Everything about her is pepe

Can't have enough of her téte-a-téte

This is not a mere yeye

She coaches my heart like Moreira Zezé

I almost ruin a marriage!

They were the most successful dating mates in the school. They were a perfect match. Every lecture hall including the college's principal knew they were dating. They were found everywhere together in a manner everyone will have a cause to be jealous.

I was in first year and they were in second year. I was quite popular in school because as a freshman, I was almost involved in all forms of student activism and agitation. Nonetheless, I got closer to these enviable date mates through a colleague and classmate at the college. He knew the gentleman in the couple. The guy had a funny nickname that I so much like.

I suddenly became fond of the date mates particularly the gentleman. Wherever I cross him on campus, I will be shouting out his nickname, heckling him and obstructing him from going to wherever he was going to. It came to a point that when he sees me, he will start charting a new path to avoid my troubles. I played with him like my year mate or gay partner.

At a point I became closer to his girlfriend too. I transferred the gentleman's treat to her too. Even beyond campus, I played crazily with her when we meet. The lady will begin begging me for mercy wherever we bump into each other.

They eventually graduated and I still have the opportunity to meet them together outside campus especially at events. The crazy relationship I had with them was still intact. I really don't know but I had an unmoderated admiration for them - a handsome guy and an pretty affable lady.

After I graduated too, I became friends with the guy on Facebook and later his girlfriend. One day, his girlfriend uploaded her picture on Facebook and I came there to put my comments under it. I wrote "Wow, sweet babe, I miss your succulent lips".

Later in the day, I received a call from her. Her voice was down and sad. She said, "Confidence, your comment on my picture is creating problems for me. My sisters-in-law are very upset with the comment. And my husband is insinuating infidelity on my part." She was very sad and bit upset too. "I know we use to fool but you know we have grown now and a lot of things have changed in our lives. I suggest you speak to my in-laws or husband", she suggested.

Well, I felt very down. This is the last girl I will probably think of hurting consciously. She was more like my own fiancée. Even back at college when some of her friends thought her relationship with me was just too unrestricted as her junior, she was cool with it.

I sensed danger and I rendered an unqualified apology for my unintended mess for her. I was ready to do everything to return her credibility back to her husband and in-laws.

Quickly, I went back to the picture on Facebook and deleted my comments and apologised unreservedly.

I got in touch with her boyfriend whom I still play informally with. He told me they were no more on grounds of family difference. I felt sadder.

Thereof, I have been very measurable on the kind of comments I put on the walls of ladies especially when I'm aware that you are very married.

Eventually they both got married to the one God chose for them. Though I was prepared to lose my head to see them together. As we plan, God also plans and His plans are the best for us.

Missing You!

Dear Sweet,

It's exactly a week today when we parted ways. The devil came between us and put as asunder. It's a hard reality that I'm still coming to terms with. I actually don't know the stage of the grieving process that I find myself now. But I know I'm still in trance - so I'm probably still at denial, anger or bargaining stage. I hope it doesn't take me forever to get to acceptance.

I still reminisce how hard I've to work in order to get you as my bonafide personal person, keeping me company 24/7, and giving me all that I desire. We could've fun as far as to the middle of night. I never had enough of you.

One week without you and my life is a mess and my shattered heart seems irreparable by any known therapeutic regimen. I've tried to move on but each passing day, I remember a piece of me in you that I just can't let you go. There is lot of me in you and I wish I could just wake up one morning to see you right by my side. This would've been the happiest day in my life.

Your love made me a slave of you. You were worth that love because you were of great worth. I've been feeling like a woman in her menopausal moments - moody, nonchalant, irritable and down. Indeed, you were the oestrogen that drives and excites my sensibilities and moods.

You were my drug - a drug that got me overly addicted that I couldn't just help myself a minute without you. Everyone knew I was so much into you. My dependency on you grew absurd and wild. Yet I was comfortable with it. I wish you could come around and behold my face and you will realise that I'm coping poorly with the withdrawal symptoms.

I fondly remember the barrage of compliments you used to receive when I go to events with you. I was always proud of you and ever wish our our association won't end until death do us apart.

We are no more just in a spate of a week and I'm craving badly for you. Certainly, the prognosis isn't good - not at all. I feel zoomed out and doomed.

Each time I remember your faultless body, sleekness and succulence, my heart gyrates violently, high-jumps over sadness and tiptoes over pain. My mind is always with you even if I'm sleeping or with your near replacement.

You were the pivot that anchors and manages my daily life with precision, love and loyalty. Each day I receive updates about you. About how the devil who separated us is trying shamelessly to devirginise and desecrate your sanctity in order to get hold of the treasury abound in you.

A tear just dropped on my paper as if we've parted for a year. Without any shred of fear I'm working fiercely like a bear to have you back my dear.

Hello Mr Devil of a chief thief, I swear you're not going to have peace with my Samsung Galaxy S5, my only faithful lover ever.

Sapashini Letter to Najat

Dear Najat,

I never believe any Daughter of Eve could make my heart somersaults into craving for her love. The inertia of an incorrigible heart like mine has been set into motion without any regard to Newton's First Law of Motion.

My Dagbandoo heart has always being meh albeit my several encounters with love stories, books and movies. The Sapashini in me has sublimed into an immeasurable subservience. And I'm ready do the unthinkable, like slapping President John Mahama, to win you.

Kavini is the watchword of a Dagomba warrior like me, but I've bid farewell to it even before you give me a chance to be thrashed into your servitude.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But trust me, anyone who fails to see your beauty is a beer holder. Your beauty is unacceptably sickening. And I do hope you can appreciate a clear sense that the writer of this very letter is sick. In fact, very sick!

Illusion is what I used to describe love. I've always thought Romeo was so stupid to have died for Juliet's love. My mind changed the very day I saw you afar. The closer we get, I think of getting a heart surgeon to remove my heart and hand it over to you.

My vital signs are now monitored countless times everyday. The sphygmomanometer is unhappy with the level of my blood pressure. Scaringly, my pulse is now googol per minute. (googol = 1 followed by 100 zeros).

The incalculable admiration for my mum has never been challenged. The record depth of mum's love in my heart is as clean as Mayweather's. Now I'm screamingly afraid you're going to batter the record.

Oh my God! Your presence before my very eyes makes me feel that dumsor is nothing but a mere political noise. I'm always unaware that I'm in dumsor until you're out of my sight. I know when the sun goes on vacation, you will be the best replacement - you're brighter than any brightness generated by all the supposed megawatts in Ghana.

You're the periscope that I can use to visualise hope when I'm submerged deeply in trouble waters. The peristaltic force to catapult me to the zenith of my dreams. I'm ever very ready to spend every penny I have on you. I don't even mind breaking into Bank of Ghana to meet your needs.

As a compulsive poster of my facebook status, it's only your love that can set new rules of my unmoderated activities on facebook.

I just hope you haven't jujued me because this obsession about you has reached the status of National Security. Seriously, all my body parts are now singing the Najat's chorus. I'm even thinking of changing my official name to Najat without affidavit.

Your Crush,

Sapashini.

Aleke

Aleke

She's the moon goddess of the Yoruba

Blessed with true African virtues from the clan of Araba

Well groomed with rich culture of the Dagomba

Aleke

Poetic sounds her other name Ruqia

And her magnificence transcends *KIA

If you're lucky to have her than you're Lakia

Aleke

In her bosom is my confidence

I shudder a farewell incidence

Because she's the Chineke of Providence

Aleke

Her admirers are more than the people on Facebook

If scouted could be the brand ambassador of Reebok

She's a replica of the virtuous woman in Abraham's Book

Aleke

She calms nerves with her dimple

Keeps the doctor away like an apple

I want to forever be her disciple

Aleke

She befits a euphoria worth the magnitude of Rio 2020

You can only appreciate it when you behold her with Vision 2020

Great radiance she wields like a Princess at 20

*KIA = Kotoka International Airport