Village boy Impressions

“Tugurika tom-mu! Tugurika tom-mu!  Bai le kuli, bai kan kuli   Piema zik chaab ka dela”!   Ti koma jam pie wiisanga ayi ka dila   Ba le Babatu kpalinsinga dila po dila po   Ate ku teba nyin-biidi, ate ba chiib zaani anag de   Taa me jinla za tugurik ka choa pielim po   Da-bienga a kum fiin fiin, pieminga a feri kak! kak!   Ti mabisa ale ti kobisa alo jata jata a gilim ti,   Ba ziimu a chale tengka meena se benangsa la   Alege kperi san kperi, ti deem ze dachiaka jigiya   Abi ntaamu aweini ka ti tong wa le piema   Yaase ti che wa ale laasa.  Ka jinla le jin.  Have you read:  Village Boy Impressions - Topsy-turvy ?  (“See the armies file forth Some will return, many will not For here, iron meets iron”! Thus, our fathers sang with the flutes In their battles with Babatu long ago Drawing strength and courage to emerge  victorious. In our day we stand in another battlefield The bullets are hissing by, and a rrows are finding their mark. Our mother’s children and our fathe

Buli is the language of the Bulsa ethnic group in the Upper East and North East regions of Ghana. The name Bulsa is also spelt in official documents and elsewhere as Builsa but this author and many others believe that spelling to be quite incorrect.    With regards to this series, let me say from the outset that I am not a language expert. This series is not a study of the origin of the language or its syntax or any of all those things that help people to learn a language in detail. In effect, therefore, considering my lack of training in language or linguistics, this endeavour may be described as a headstrong attempt (in the Buli Language;  zupagruk tuima) .    My  zupagruk , however, comes from the motivation that it can be the force that would propel the more qualified ones to come out with the best material that can help us read and write Buli well. This is, therefore, more of a kindergarten introduction to the language.   If you have no background in the language, it may n

The traffic on the main road was moving slowly amid the shouting of drivers' mates calling out different destinations. Dzorwulu! Pigfarm! Pigfarm! Dzorwulu! By those coming from Kwame Nkrumah Circle and Serk! Serk! Serk! By those returning from the aforementioned place. Driver mates always have their head and hand outside the window of the door beside which they perch and are constantly calling out the names of the destination of their cars. As our trotro snake eases its way along the narrow New Town – Circle road, I focused on listening to the destinations being shouted by the drivers' mates going to and from Circle. In less than 200 metres, we were at a section of the road adjacent to the Mallam Attah market. Getting through that section of the road was not an easy affair. The noise was deafening. It was a continuous hubbub of running engines, frustrated drivers shouting, horns tooting, mates calling passengers, music blaring from giant speakers, and hundreds of peopl

Accra! kra! kra! kra! kra! Screamed several youthful voices in discordant harmony. Repeating it over and over and over till you hear it in the sound of the radio, the crying of infants, the tread of footsteps, the whining of school children and the chime of your waking dreams! The whole street is engulfed in one rousing cry of Accra! Kra! Kra Kra! Kra! Like fireworks going off. Without a word, I climbed into the trotro in which four passengers were already seated and settled down to wait. The mate, standing in front of the car and leaning against it continued to announce the destination of his trotro – Accra! The ‘loading’ of passengers is usually much faster in the morning but as the day wears on, the numbers get thinner and the trotro takes longer to fill up. It was a quarter past ten in the morning and so I did not expect to wait long. I took my seat at the very back of the car by the window. This is the least favourite seat of most passengers. Besides a few of us, most pe

Photo Credit: Ghanacelebrities.com So you say what?  Ghana must go?  Yes  Definitely  Ghana must go  But where?  All we know is Ghana must go!  We went with the Whiteman  But he dropped us like a sucked orange  Then we went with the Blackman  But he used us to wipe his underparts and dropped us in a man-hole  We went with the men in uniform but they raped our women at the bus stop  We turned to monarchs but found no sweetness there  We went to 'bullet' boxes but they sold us for the thighs of university girls We went to court, but our lawyers filed a 'nolle prosequi' without our consent We appealed but the judge fell asleep during the trial Having spent all his night counting monies and collecting goats In his waking moments, he threw our case out of the window We run to the police but they met us with stray warning bullets That left many dead and even more with broken limbs and fractured skulls The lucky ones went to the hospital to

Photo Credit: Franz Kröger Weeding the fields couldn't be more delightful!  Though backs are breaking in the noonday heat,  Palms blistering from gripping rigid hoe sticks,  Sweat trickling down the groins of labouring kinsmen,  And all their muscles are taut with effort,  The smell of dark loamy earth freshly upturned  Releases a singing trapped in the lungs of men.  Have you read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Matrimonial Dance The thrill of music banishes all weariness  And even the weakest muscle would gain  Momentum to break the moist earth with iron  Whilst hearts throb with the harmonious choruses;  Hymns that at once inspire, admonish, and entertain.  Chanting the village news as well as the secrets of men,  One is forced to pay as much heed as to work harder.  Every drop of gin sent coursing into half-empty bellies Lends leverage to even unwilling tongues And the sweetness of agreeable voices is released. Every deed of men is censured or eulo