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Hitherto I had no sympathy on drug addicts or drug dependents. I had thought of their situation as a free will choice to continue to engage in substance abuse. In my ignorance, I thought that they could on any day take a decision to cut off from substance abuse if they so wished. I showed outright scorn against addicts. Not even remorseful feelings of addicts during their subtle withdrawal and subsequent relapse could make me see an invisible force at play against them, for me to at least revise my harsh thoughts of deliberate irresponsible behavior attributed to them. Many like my former self, assume addicts hold onto the chains of the misery of substance abuse willingly.

I, however, had my prejudices against addicts reversed when I took the course “Drug Tolerance and Dependence” under the veritable Prof Lutterodt as part of my training for an MPhil Pharmacology degree. My ignorant assumptions against addicts got cured after the course. The co…

Weird Thoughts About Ghanaian Society

1.      A person who abuses others is hardly ever asked to stop. We don't want to stand up to the person doing wrong. Rather, we ask the victim(s) to tolerate the abuse. And if the victim refuses to accept our advice, we conclude that he/she is a bad person - not the abusive person. People who abuse others are like 'small gods' to be complained about but not stood up to. They are treated like victims to be understood and pitied and their victims are to be advised and praised for tolerating abuse.
2.       Praying in tongues is a shouting competition. A test of endurance. At the first Pentecost, we are told that the tongues (languages) of the apostles were understood by a multitude of devout men from 'every nation under heaven' (Acts 2: 1 - 8). In our time, no human being can understand the tongues we speak; an endless stream of discordant sounds emitted by people in seeming agony and disarray. 
3.      We swat a fly with a sledgehammer but always attempt to separate …


Blessed are those who can laugh at themselves: They will live long and enjoy life.
Blessed are those who can tell a mountain from a molehill: They will be saved a lot of anxiety.
Blessed are those who do not make excuses: They will sooner achieve their dreams.
Happy are you if you can appreciate a smile and forget a frown: You will walk on the sunny side of the street.
Happy are you if you can be kind in understanding the attitudes of others: You may be taken for a fool, but this is the price of charity.
Happy are you if you know when to hold your tongue and just smile: You have opened your heart to the light of the Gospel.
Blessed are they who think before acting and pray before thinking: They will avoid many blunders and much trouble.
Blessed are those who recognize the Lord in all whom they meet: The light of truth shines in their lives.

(Anonymous Author)

Looking Through the Window

Today I looked through my window
Silent and absent mindedly.
I saw the verdurous crowns of many trees
The multi-coloured roofs of many homes
And idle white clouds hanging lazily.
It all looks familiar I thought.
I saw it yesterday and the day before
So I thought.
But did I?


I blinked at the unsettling thought. For I have never really looked At the sylvan glade outside my window Though I see it every day.
But now, I stood to stare; At the deep, verdant green of the trees All lusty and still in the smokeless air. And yet, and yet, some are in flower! A thousand red and yellow blossoms On three trees just outside my window, Glittering in the early bright sunlight. That, I have never seen before! My heart glowed at the profound beauty. And the weight of the coming day Was made lighter and easier at the sight.

Read: Village Boy Impressions - The House in Balansa

The Kayayei’s Tale

I walk my beat in many cities and markets
Up and Down in the perspiring sun
From Tamale to Kumasi Kejetia
From Techiman to Takoradi market circle
The great Accra is my home base.
Whether it be Nima, or Mallam Atta,
Agbogbloshie or Makola, I am present
Thither I go with my emblem, a head pan.
I tread the markets and lorry parks
From six to six each day, rain or shine
I carry my wares; other people’s loads
Who proudly strut daintily behind me
Whilst I shout and nudge my way in the crowd,
They watch me intently, anxiously
Lest I should be lost with their goods.
Yet when I finally arrive, these my patrons
Women, mothers, and lazy men
Even they, begrudge me my wage.
Not realizing I am a woman and born of a woman.

Read: Village Boy Impressions - Unsung Heroines

Foxes may have holes and birds have nests But I have neither. I make my bed in lidless shacks and verandas Where I chase elusive sleep on weary pillows I am the prey of mosquitoes And all blood-sucking creatures. Unscrupulous men lu…

The Math Teacher

With light nervous steps, he trod in  As one aroused from an upshot of gin   And stood abashed, a shadow ill-prepared,  His sealed quivering lips unassured  Whether it be fractions or portions  Change of subject or meaningless expressions  Pondering where and how to begin  Whilst they continued their din  Not heeding the unsettled guest  Framed in the doorway aghast  Clutching a heavy textbook  With a finger locked in the nook. 
Read: Village Boy Impressions - Why God Does not have a Ph.D.
A well-pressed shirt that daintily sat  And shoes black as night pat  Were all they could admire of him.  For he could neither add nor multiply  Save by that book he held to comply.  And he stammered badly enough  To send them reeling to the north.  He was thrust upon them without a session  And they could instruct him with fair revision.  But he messed up his very first lesson  ('He's killing us' she said)  So they bundled whatever standing he had  And sent it through the window hard  Slapping their hands togeth…

A Tale of Footprints

Take a walk down the village path
And read the tales on its face.
A thousand tales told and retold
In the marks of those gone before.
Some full, some half trodden down
Some giantish, some dwarfish
Some clear, some blur, vanishing.
All equally lie, telling their tale
For who cares to read.
Tales of hope, tales of fear
Some of terrors and tragedies
And many strides of happy success.

Read: Village Boy Impressions - The Days of Bliss
Long I stood reading the silent tales
As far as the eye could see
For many are the voices on the path
Some speak in the center of the path; And leave deep tales in the dust That are fast trodden under and lost. Others speak on the edges Brushings thorns and stubs and weeds And hardly leave an impression But the dying weeds tell their tale. By their effort the path grows.  Many diverge into the thicket And still many converge on it But the path leads on and on.

It is a man’s duty to follow it For all must take the path And everyone leaves silent prints Where …