Thursday, July 24, 2014

Beloved and Blessed

My morning began with me thinking about someone whom i love dearly who has been going though problems with her marriage after loosing two beautiful babies. My heart aches whenever i think about those babies and i cannot imagine her pain and her loss but i thank God that he has been able to keep her upright and sane in the midst of all this tragedy and heart ache.

I don't think its fair that the one who promised to love her and support her till death do them part would abandon her and their third living child during a time when their family should be much  closer because of their shared tragedies.

I'm also angry. Angry because its not the easiest thing being a single parent or a child with a single parent...being a from a single parent family myself. The initial confusion, the questions in school, the tears and the anger.....but i also know the acceptance and the peace which comes with knowing that in spite of your past's circumstances, God has not forgotten you and has been exceedingly and abundantly gracious to you throughout your life.

My darling Mary, may you grow healthy and strong, may you be the smartest student in your class, may you be a child of God, may you achieve more than anyone on this earth can imagine you can achieve and may the circumstances of your being never cause you to doubt the reason God our Father has placed you on this earth.

Aunty Aku Loves you so much.


Wednesday, July 2, 2014


Glossary/ Meanings

1. Akpeteshie – local gin
2. Alakpa tor - Liar
3.  '' Awoo!! Awoo!! - Mercy! Mercy!
4. Godi – boxers/underpants
5.  Me gbo dzi!'' – ‘’ Take your time / be careful/ be gentle
6. Togas – baggy three quarter length trousers made from a African print
7. Zhi ne! – punch him
 8. ''Mi gbor dzi nam loo!!'' – Everyone calm down


Kofi Dogo was the village drunk; everyone knew it except himself of course. In his mind he was a stalwart citizen whom the village needed.

Every morning like clockwork, he was up by 6.05am, his body in spasm from the usual withdrawal syndromes of alcoholism.
He would immediately reach for the bottle of akpeteshie* thrown carelessly at the foot of his  weather beaten mattress - which he had pissed on too many unmemorable times - and take two gulps to steady the trembling of his fingers.

Then with a deep sigh after the akpeteshie* had worked its way through his blood, he would stagger up, grab his towel which hung on a coarse rope above his bed post, sling the dirty thing over his shoulder and totter to the compound latrine and shower in his Monday to Friday godi*, which hung slack over his narrow buttocks.

His neighbours quickly scattered from the compound the moment they heard the familiar creak of his trap door, except for the old hag who was the land lady. She was an ancient creature with a twisted back from years bent over gathering salt in her husband’s salt flats, which when became profitable over night, had now turned her into a property owner.

She didn't seem the least bit intimidated by Kofi Dogo, unless she didn't show it, and day after day over the last 4 months since his rent became over due, she had come to rain insults on him and his father’s house hold, who by the way were all dead or had disowned Kofi Dogo because of his habit.

Personally, all her tenants felt she should just throw him out of the compound house and find a new tenant to occupy his one room, and put an end to the insult war.  However they never suggested it, least they themselves were late with rent in the near future and suffered a similar fate.

The latrine heaved of its usual sour odour in the warm morning weather, but Kofi Dogo, used it like an Olympic champion, squatting over the seat, doing his business swiftly whilst inhaling the akpeteshie* fumes in his mouth in favour of the smell of the latrine.  Afterwards, he ambled over to the compound shower next door for his bath; one ignorant tenant had carelessly left half a bucket of water in their hasty retreat from the bathroom on hearing his footsteps, and seeing his good fortune he smirked at the thought of the tenant scattering hastily away, revelling in the thought that he frightened his co tenants.

In two quick motions, he doused himself with the water and lathered up with the small piece of soap gelled to the window sill. He was about to rinse off the soap suds, when he heard the scuffling and the raised voices, approaching the shower. Before he could make sense of what was happening a barrage of muscular men charged into the tiny room and hauled him out, soap suds and all, with him grasping to catch the edge of his towel to cover his nudity.

The women in the compound had started hooting by then, the palms of their hands moving rapidly against and away from their opened lips, and the town crier materialised like an angel of death, wildly beating his gong and singing along to a cacophony of mumbo-jumbo. Kofi Dogo, whose heart was pounding, looked around wildly for a way to escape, he was so certain he was about to be lynched; unpaid rent, a long overdue tab at the palm wine bar at the end of the village road – oh yes, and that instance when he had disrupted the village durbar during their corn was time to pay the piper.

He tried to twist himself free, and because of the soap suds, he slipped easily out of the hands of his captors, onto the sandy compound ground. He lost, his towel in the process, but at that point, his mind was programmed to flight and it didn’t occur to him that his testicles were on display for the entire crowd to gawk at.
He made a break for it, but a powerful side slap sent him tottering into the arms of a muscular young man, who quickly hooked his bulky arms under Kofi Dogo's armpits, grasped his head and held him firmly in place.

'' Awoo!! Awoo!! Mi gbo dzi di!''*

One of the female tenants cried out and she quickly whipped off her second cloth, rushed forward and wrapped it in a loose knot around Kofi Dogo's lean hips before anyone could stop her.

The sting of the slap was wearing off and Kofi Dogo began to protest; he kicked his feet out desperately trying to hit anyone his legs would reach and shouted

''What is the meaning of this?? EH! Lego! Lego!'

The small crowd which had formed around the spectacle parted and Efo Kodjo, a reasonably well to do shallot farmer by village standards, marched purposefully through, in his usual over sized t-shirt and togas*, dragging a young woman behind him. Her head was bent so low all you could see was the lines of cornrows on the crown of her head.

For a little man, Efo Kodjo seemed to be breathing fire and brimstone like a dragon. His eyes were large and red with anger and for once in the longest time, Kofi Dogo felt fear. He had never seen a man look at him with so much anger and all the initial bravado he had felt disappeared.
Efo Kodjo thrust the girl forcefully towards Kofi Dogo, she stumbled and for a brief moment everyone thought she would fall, however she caught herself in time and steadied herself with the palm of her hand on the sandy ground. 

'Foolish man!'

Efo Kodjo shouted, his face now inches away from Kofi Dogo's face

'Drunkard! You think you had gotten away eh? Today you will suffer!! Seriously suffer!! I promise you that on my mama's grave!'

Kofi Dogo blinked, processing the insults and trying to make sense of what was happening and in order to formulate a response back, he retorted sharply in his usual gruff drunken manner

'' For what?''

Efo Kodjo's eyes widened and his jowls quivered in disbelief, then suddenly he threw back his fist, aimed and landed a solid blow on Kofi Dogo's right eye, he came back again to land another but he was restrained by one of the young men close to him and an elder who had materialized out of nowhere. The women in the gathering shouted a mixture of.

''Awoo!! Awoo!!''* and '' Xi ne!!*

The Elder came forward again, followed by a fuming but calmer Efo Kodjo, who had been released from the grips of the young man. The young woman was still crouched on the ground between Kofi Dogo, the Elder and Efo Kodjo.

''Mi gbo dzi di nam loo!!''*

 The elder announced to the excited gathering which had swelled in size and want for air.  He approached Kofi Dogo, looked him dead in the eye and began to speak.

 ''Kofi Akpalime, son of Christian Kwaku Akpalime. I have known you since you were brought screaming into the world from your mother’s womb. I was there at your naming ceremony....I dipped my hand into the water and the schnapps  myself for you to suck from my finger as custom demands- perhaps then I should have noticed that you sucked a little longer and more thirstily from the finger dipped in Schnapps that the finger dipped in water, but alas, here we are. We can't go back.''

‘Hmmm’’ the women hummed deeply and dramatically as he paused for effect for the rest of the crowd to also murmur their ascent. He continued;

 '' The entire town has known for years that you are a drunk, we have never chastised you for that, but today of all days you have brought shame to your father and his father's name. Unfortunately we cannot resort to the old ways of punishment by banishment or worse, because even as traditional as we are, we are also Christians. However! We can still punish you for your disrespectful behaviour towards Efo Kodjo in another way.''

Kofi Dogo was amazed, with his good eye, he looked around at the crowd and then back to the Elder's face and stuttered

'Togbi, I…I…What I’m being accused of?  Eh? ''

Efo Kodjo, leapt at him again for a second blow, screaming

'' Alakpa tor!! Foolish!!'' and had to be hailed back, his little legs flying in mid air, by the same young man who had restrained him the first time.

The Elder shook his head in disapproval and said

''Kofi Dogo, this is not the time to tell lies. Almost the entire village is here, there are witnesses too who saw you taking this young woman who Efo Kodjo married just yesterday morning, to the beach yesterday evening. Eh, Kofi? Are you going to deny it? Eh? Are you going to deny that you made her a woman before her own husband did? Eh?''

Kofi Dogo's jaw went slack, and he looked towards what was Efo Kodjo's third and youngest wife, whose head came up a notch for him to see her seriously chewing her bottom lip. She could not have been more than seventeen years old. There was nothing attractive about her face; with its fine dusting of puberty pimples covering her cheeks but then again there were those nubile firm breasts and those thick thighs and rounded buttocks....wait a minute how did he know this??

It suddenly dawned on him in a blurry flashback; tottering back from the palm wine spot at the end of the village's main road, singing – ironically - ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’, stopping to piss behind someone's hut...presumably...yes...definitely Efo' Kodjo's hut, the frightening rustling in the bushes behind him, him shouting out a warning to whatever manner of wild animal which was about to attack him....the warm hands smelling faintly of shea butter covering his mouth to quiet the shout, hands guiding him to very soft breasts whilst she pulled him forward quietly into the grove and just before the beach... laying down between two over turned canoes...the sand on her back after she pulled off her dress, lay on her back and beckoned him towards her, whilst mumbling gibberish about old men, never letting them touch her, pleading....begging…cajoling… 

 Kofi Dogo squeezed his eyes hadn't been a drunken dream after all, but he didn't know how he would explain it, it was a ludicrous story, who would believe the story of the infamous town drunk over the ''innocent'' seductress who chosen to give her maiden head to him over her older, shorter and probably inadequate husband. He smirked at the thought of Efo Kodjo being inadequate, but quickly concealed it and opened his eyes again and swallowed

 ''Torgbui...'' He started, but the elder silenced him with a dismissive wave of his hand and said

''Kofi Dogo, enough is enough! The witnesses have seen! Efo Kodjo has testified! This is your new wife. Repay Efo Kodjo for her bride price by the end of the week. We are finished,''

He signalled to the crowd and said aloud

‘Everyone, please return to your homes. We are finished here.’’

The crowd slowly began to disperse,  Efo Kodjo who was still lingering around tapped two of his right hand fingers against an invisible watch on his left wrist and said
‘End of week!’

He gave Kofi Dogo one last nasty look, before he turned and walked away.

Kofi Dogo’s captor released him, and rising to his feet Kofi Dogo looked down resentfully at the young woman before him, who was nervously chewing the pad of one of her thumbs. Her head stayed lowered and for the longest time he said nothing…he was having a very bad day.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

My Light And My Salvation

Dear Father,

I feel like giving up and walking out. But i KNOW that you are ABLE! And you wouldn't give up on me because you are ABLE!

My song of praise to you today is He's Able!
I praise you in all things! In all situations, at all times because It is Well with me.

My Psalm of praise to You is Psalm 27
The LORD is my light and my salvation-- whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life-- of whom shall I be afraid? 2 When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh, when my enemies and my foes attack me, they will stumble and fall. 3 Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear;though war break out against me, even then will I be confident. 4 One thing I ask of the LORD, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple. 5 For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock. 6 Then my head will be exalted above the enemies who surround me; at his tabernacle will I sacrifice with shouts of joy; I will singand make music to the LORD. 7 Hear my voice when I call, O LORD; be merciful to me and answer me.8 My heart says of you, "Seek his face!" Your face, LORD, I will seek. 9 Do not hide your face from me, do not turn your servant away in anger; you have been my helper. Do not reject me or forsake me, O God my Savior. 10 Though my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will receive me. 11 Teach me your way, O LORD; lead me in a straight path because of my oppressors. 12 Do not turn me over to the desire of my foes, for false witnesses rise up against me, breathing out violence. 13 I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. 14 Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013


On my usual route home from work, I sat in one of our local public taxi's which most young people my age have nicknamed  trotro; a nick name culled for these ancient Mercedes Benz buses which have been converted from delivery vans to delivering humans to their various destinations.

This particular trotro ( troskie if you like) which I jumped into at the bus stop behind the Afua Sutherland Children's park, along with a healthy handful of passengers who were no doubt in a hurry to get to their various destinations, was rather unusual.
The first thing which struck me was the mate; now normally the mates were sprite young fellows who clung to the doors of the troskies like nimble monkeys, hollering out to potential passengers at bus stops about their destinations whilst expertly clutching a handful of bills between the knuckles of their fingers.

This mate however, was a middle aged Baba, complete in smock and cap, looking like he would roll out his mat and kneel down to attend to a call to prayer at any instant.

Next I noticed the 17' flat screen TV perched over head, hooked up to two loud speakers...LED or LCD, I had no clue, but I was excited! Finally! My first film in a troskie! Then as I slid into my seat beside a well dressed corporate worker wearing a curly weave, carefully making sure my clothes didn't get caught in any snags, I finally noticed the driver. The driver who looked like the mate...sprite, slightly unkempt and with sharp eyes adept at spotting potential passengers from a mile away like a bird of pray.

At this point I was even more excited, because I could smell drama! There was either going to be a quarrel of some sort once our journey began or SOMETHING!

My crew of misfits  did not fail to disappoint; for as I opened my purse and began to rustle about for coins to pay my fare, I  casually asked in Twi, the common local dialect

'How much to Tetteh Quarshie?'

Baba the mate gave me a long blank stare before doing the very Ghanaian thing of answering a question with a question

'How much do u often pay?'

At that very moment my fingers had found a 10 Pesewa coin, and I froze....what????
The MATE was asking ME how much I often paid? Was he mad? Was he sure he was a proper mate and not the Imam at a local mosque some where in Adabraka taking a day off his statutory occupation?

Just right then, a naughty voice whispered in my head

'Say you pay 10 Pesewas'

I couldn't help but giggle, musing to myself that if I was a wicked woman, I would definitely say so n cheat this Baba or mate or whatever he purported to be of a solid 50 pesewas. It wasn't much money, nor was it because I didn't have the money, but the temptation was so impossibly irresistible, my lips parted and I started to form the words ...when suddenly a young man who had jumped into the row of seats in front of me just moments after i had sat, announced in Twi, as the troskie jerked into motion with a shrill screech from the clutch as the driver changed the gears.

''Its 60 pesewas. Tetteh-Quarshie is 60 pesewas''

At that point I grinned from ear to ear although I was disappointed at being unable to play devil's advocate, and found a 50 pesewa coin and handed it over to the Baba the mate.
Barely one second went by when a young girl in the front row me quipped

'How much to get down at 37 hospital?'

To which the Baba replied

'80 pesewas.'

My jaw sagged in astonishment; this passenger was being charged more than I was for a destination which was a total of about 6 bus stops before my stop.

The same smart-alec passenger who insisted my fare was 60 pesewas, came to Baba's rescue once again, and argued

'No its not! Its 70p, everyone pays 70p for 37'

As the passenger passed her GHC1 note from hand to hand till it reached Baba the mate, I held my breath, waiting for someone,  or more likely the self appointed public transport minister to call me out on that 60 pesewas.....nothing happened. Three stops later,  nothing had happened one seemed to notice or care, or perhaps they were so excited by their own good fortune they didn't want to spoil it.

Well then, I thought to myself, no point playing the saint. So onward to my stop at spanner bus stop at 60 pesewas, best troskie ride ever!! Hurray!

Monday, November 25, 2013

Old Soldier Never Die!

My mother, my big sister and I live in a quiet gated community off the Tema Motorway. Our estate is the kind of community where young singles, middle aged people, retirees, as well as a healthy number of young couples live with their small children. The streets are safe enough for morning joggers, evening strolls and for children to ride their bicycles and play whilst their parents and nannies keep a sharp eye out for the occasional over speeding driver or the garbage collecting trucks, which often can be smelt from a mile away.

Now, this is not my story, but I’m telling it for my sister who told it to me and asked me to write it down because she says I have a way with words; so here I am... preparing to regal you with her story.

So over the last three or so months, she tells me, she's been giving a ride to an elderly man every morning or afternoon on her way into town. In the community we live in, there's nothing odd about giving a neighbour a ride to the main estate gate in order for them to get transportation to where ever their destination maybe. I myself have picked up and dropped off quite a few people either at the estate gate or taken them into the city if they happen to be heading in the same direction as I am.

Awo had been giving a ride to an elderly veteran soldier who had been to Burma, and who answered to the name 'Old soldier', for which he always replied ' Old soldier never die' followed by a mock salute.

Old Soldier would stand a little way from his house on the side of the street, walking stick firmly gripped in his hands, looking out eagerly for anyone driving out of the estate. When he saw a vehicle he recognised approaching, he would pull off his coolie-hi hat which I’m sure he had been wearing since 1945 and rapidly and desperately flag down his quarry with his sinewy weathered arms until you stopped. Come to think of it, it was near impossible not to slow down and give him a lift, he just looked frail and pitiful standing there all bent over, and anyone with half a heart would just stop if they pictured their own grandfather standing at the side of the street.

After picking him up, and making the respectful greetings and such, the next thing was always to ask him where he was going and his answer was always the same, him stuttering ….

 ‘Me si! Me si! Me si wo gate!'  * 'I'll get down! I'll get down! I'll get down at the gate'.*

…..whilst making fast sporadic movements with his two skinny arms indicating his fore fingers in a downward motion.

Now mind you, Awo can be a humanitarian at heart, although she will never admit it to your face, she will always go the extra mile to do something for someone especially if she feels the person is in need of it.

So at moments like this, she always pushed and cajoled Old Soldier a little; she would ask her elderly companion where exactly he was going so that if it was on her way she could drop him off there and save a fraction of some of his pension money. 

Old soldier always gave her either one of two destinations; that he was either going to the pharmacy in front of the estate or he was going to the Chiropractic Clinic across the main road. A couple of instances when he was going to the Chiropractic Clinic, Awo said she firmly insisted and dropped him off at the clinic's gate since she was going that way anyway and since Old Soldier did not seem to know where the entrance to the clinic was.

One Sunday morning, my sister started getting a bit worried and alarmed about the health of this Veteran soldier who had fought bravely in Burma eons ago when our own mother had not even been thought about by our grandparents.

She met Old soldier at his usual place, frantically flagging down her car with his coolie-hi hat and walking stick as if his very life depended on it. So like she always did Awo slowed down and picked him up, did the usual pleasantries and then inquired where he was heading off to. That day it was the pharmacy, but it was also 9am in the morning, and the pharmacy would not be open for business until 1pm.

She said she said to Old Soldier in Twi 

‘Da, please its Sunday, the pharmacy won't be open until the afternoon’

To which he responded quickly in Twi with his distinct halting stutter whilst motioning rapidly in a downward motion with his two fore fingers

‘Mm33 tw3n! Mm33 tw3n!’ * ‘I’ll wait for them! I'll wait for them!’   

His response was strange and my sister began to wonder about his mental health and specifically what manner of illness the poor old fellow was suffering from, which had him visiting the pharmacist seven days a week to purchase his medications. What kind of illness  made him decide to wait almost 4 hours until the pharmacy opened, and why didn’t he not  just buy his medications in bulk in order to avoid the daily to and fro journey. She began to feel sorry for him and made up her mind that next time round she gave him a lift, she would give him a little money to help him out a bit.

Now barely a week after this incident, Awo had her hair braided at home by our hairdresser Mabel, whom we always called when we wanted to get our hair braided or twisted. Normally when she was done with our hair, we’d drop her off at the station to get transportation home, and on this occasion, my sister decided to take her to the trotro station at Chayass Junction in Community 18, from where Mabel could get a loading car straight to 37 station, from which she could get another loading car home to Nsawam.

Like clockwork, Old soldier was standing in his usual spot on the street, coolie-hi hat and walking stick in hand, desperately flagging her car down as if there was no tomorrow.

So Awo, slowed down and she said sadly to Mabel

‘This poor old man is going to the pharmacy again oo!’

To which the Mabel the hairdresser responded with an unconvinced scoff of


Old soldier clambered into the backseat of the car, the usual pleasantries and greetings were exchanged, and then he was dropped at the estate gate as usual, where he said his usual profuse thanks whilst waving with his two hands, before he placed his walking stick back to the ground and shuffled away on his skinny weather beaten legs, his baggy mid calf khaki shorts unable to conceal his thin frame.

That’s when Mabel the hair dresser started talking about Old Soldier, whilst my sister, mouth agape, listened in shock.

According to Mabel, she had gone to braid another customer’s hair just a little further down the street from our house and close to Old Soldier’s house. The customer in question owned a wine and spirits shop where she retailed a bevy of drinks to all and sundry. That late afternoon, around dusk as she was putting in some finishing touches to the braids, the old soldier had shuffled by with his usual gait, coolie-hi hat in place on his head and walking stick firmly gripped in his knobbed fingers. Shortly after he had passed her customer had exclaimed

‘Humph! This old drunkard is going out to drink again!’

Then without further preamble her customer narrated how she used to sell alcohol to him at first, but had seen how bad his drinking habits were and decided that she would never ever sell to him again!
However despite her refusal to sell to him, the sly old foggy had found an alternative watering hole across the main road from the estate, where he shuffled to daily in order to get plastered. After he had had his fill and too roaring drunk to stagger the short walk back home, he always hailed a taxi to transport him back home.

My sister was aghast! Heartbroken! Angry! A Molotov cocktail of mixed emotions! She felt her trust had been betrayed! All along, Old Soldier had preyed on her pity, and had tricked her into enabling him to feed his habit!  She immediately vowed never ever to give the old soldier a ride again and threatened to confront him and embarrass him next time round she spotted him flagging her down for a lift.

I couldn’t stop howling with laughter, and the only sympathetic yet ironic thing I could say to her was

 ‘S3 nsa no y3 aduro!’  * But the alcohol is medicine!’*

After all, with all that daily dose of booze, most certainly Old Soldier never die!

Friday, July 19, 2013

'Awoe' (* ah-way*) - 'The Bats'

It was around that time of the year when the coconut fruits begun to dry on the tall gnarled coconut trees, that we made our yearly trip to my father's village. It was 1962, I was about seven, still clueless about what Ghana's independence meant, but nonetheless excited to be on holidays with my two older rambunctious brothers whom I adored and looked to for acceptance in their games and adventures.

The journey was always the same, my mother packed enough food to last our week stay into the car, my father drove, and my brother's and I goofed in the back seat - pressing our noses against the window and making faces  at the passing scenery, playing 'I spy' and of course dozing off when we got tired. I remember my mother waking us up to have a quick lunch, perhaps halfway to the village before continuing on our journey. I remember the ride in the Aunty Dede ferry at Tefle which slightly made my tummy pitch throughout the thirty minutes ride.

Denu was always a welcome breath of fresh air. To any seven year old; the freedom to run about barefoot in the sea sand without any qualms about having to do home work for the next day of school was utterly heavenly!

However before we settled in we always had to deal with our unwanted house guests, a generation of cave bats who had taken over our village house  for as far back as i could remember in all my seven years.

This year round, my father decided to put a complete stop to their tenancy by sealing the entrance through which they flew in to nest. He said he had had it with the bats and their mess and the creepy screeching noises  they made throughout the day.

A local handy man who was noted for his prowess at catching house rodents was summoned and tasked with proposing a permanent solution to sacking the bats from the roof before the opening was sealed.

I remember how the corners of his eyes crinkled with delight as he gave my father a toothless grin, rubbed his knobbly hands together and named his price for his services. The amount must have been pretty ridiculous because my mother exclaimed loudly. Him and my father haggled some, a fair price was agreed upon and the handy man agreed to arrive at the house within an hour with his potions for the task.

He arrived on time I suppose, for I didn't have a watch, but the sun had not yet gone down when he came back. He mixed a few things from a cacophony of bottles and containers, threw in a few blocks of charcoal and fanned the mixture until it formed a murky mess with a rather revolting smell.

 I tried to go closer to have a look, but my father yelled at me in his usual gruff manner, and rebuffed I retreated to the shade of the guava trees under which my brothers were playing a noisy game of alikoto.

I knelt quietly in the sand for a few minutes next to them until they let me join in the game, so I don't quite remember what happened next, but suddenly, there was a loud screech and the bats hurled themselves into the skies above , angry at being rudely woken up before they were ready.

We watched in awe as they scattered into the sky. Then we chased  after them and jumped at the ones who came close to us, tempting us with false hope of being caught, as they swooped down and shied away from us like a dark blanket  against the molten red sky, as the sun made its descent in the horizon to the west.

Narrative by : Rosaline Gbeho
Words: Aku Duse

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Weekend Paradise

I had the most fantastic weekend! I'm still reliving it a little bit every morning when I wake up and look at the pictures where myself and a bunch of my girls were looking fit and fabulous whilst basking in the warm sunshine during our over night stay in Ada.

With every fun weekend, it started as usual with a series of relatively unfortunate events. I almost missed my hair appointment on Friday afternoon because of a quick stop I decided to make at the bank, I delayed picking my friend up from our meeting point, my friends and I partied too hard until the wee hours of the morning, making me temporarily ill from inhaling too much second hand smoke.To crown it all, I ended up phoning a complete stranger and asking them to be part of our weekend party, thinking he was actually one of my old friends.

All being said, plus that magnificent thing called Providence, I found myself - fabulous hat and all in a convoy with my girls, speeding at 120 mph along the road leading to the Volta Region with our designated driver/chilling paddie/ spanking new male friend who had literally saved the day with his spontaneity.

We arrived at Ada, Soli Kope within about seventy minutes, and took another thirty or so minutes to drive down to Peace Holiday Resort, our quaint but exquisite river side resort (
The view from the pier leading onto the river was insanely beautiful and therapeutic for our smoke clogged city lungs, and after squealing and prancing around in excitement like a bunch of school girls, we fished out our camera phones and tried to capture as many photos of the scenery as we could in the slow fading light, where the sunset had set up our shadows to our sides like long legged scarecrows.

We took a drive to Tsarley (charley) Kope, were we met up and had lunch with the rest of our party and booked an evening boat trip to the beach to attend a famous bonfire my new friend had told us about; but not before we dashed back to have a quick dip in the pool, have a few more drinks and freshen up in our cozy and tastefully furnished suite at the Peace Holiday Resort whilst waiting to be picked up.

The evening boat ride to the beach bonfire was in a relatively luxurious boat which I dubbed 'The River Cruiser', which picked us up around 9pm, and set off for the beach whose white shores we could see in the distance from the pier at the resort. It was an amazing boat ride! The boat did not have any lights and although the water was dark,  navigation was made easy by the huge bright stars which seemed close enough to touch if you squeezed one eye shut and reached out with the tip of one of your fingers.

 At the bonfire we loaded up on drinks and snacks and told silly stories whilst the fire crackled and spat angrily in the sand. You could hear the waves smashing against the shore in the near distance, so upon a dare I challenged one of my girls to come with me so we could investigate what was beyond the sand dune behind the make-shift chalets. The sight and sound of the waves and the height of the sand dune brought us so close to the stars, we just shouted for joy at how amazingly awesome our Heavenly Father was.

We returned to our suite shortly before midnight, went to bed and woke up to a breakfast of eggs, sausages,toast, vegetables and cake, served with pipping hot tea and coffee after which we lounged lazily in the living room area, chatting idly and recounting the previous day's events and lamenting on how we should have booked a two night stay instead of one.

Any-who, by noon we packed up our belongings, dropped them off in our respective cars and headed towards the pier for one last ride on the river at the invitation of my spanking new friend. Once again aboard ' The River Cruiser' we went around a number of the islands and even went as close to the estuary, where the river met the sea in lurid but exciting game of tug of war. Despite being slightly disheveled by an on and off shower of rain during the ride, my companions and I really wished we could do the boat ride over again, but sadly time was fast spent and we needed to make our way back home....well not before we went to a barbecue first (giggles).

Ada was absolutely fantastic, from the lovely resort, to the scenery, the food and most of all the company; I  know for certain that i and my friends (both old and new) can't wait to revisit these new found delights again.