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Head porters (popularly called 'kayayei' in Ghana) Photo credit: NewsGhana I walk my beat in many cities and markets Up and down in the perspiring sun From Tamale to Kumasi Kejetia Techiman to Takoradi market circle The mighty Accra is my home base Whether it is Nima, or Mallam Atta, Agbogbloshie or Makola, I am there. Down I come with my head pan in hand. To tread the markets and lorry parks. From six to six each day, rain or shine. I carry my wares; other people’s loads Who strut daintily behind me Watching intently, anxiously Whilst I shout and nudge my way in the crowd, Lest I should be lost with their goods. Yet when I finally arrive, these opportunists, These women, mothers, genteel ladies and lazy men Even they, begrudge me my wage. Read: Village Boy Impressions - Unsung Heroines Tired kayayei find rest under a big truck. Read: Village Boy Impressions - Election Mangana Foxes have holes and birds have nests But I, a daughter and a m

FEOK - The Hallowed Festival of the Bulsa

By John Akanvariyuei Agandin - November 29, 2021

From the east, a golden-sun rises proud and majestic, Shining in all brilliance and delight. His rays strike with fierce-some joy Upon the bare brown earth, with Not a cloud in the heavens to stay them. Energy gushes forth in torrents, Birds, beasts, gods, and mortals Glow with vigour and intent . The Drums sound, the flutes call, The birds chirp, the doves coo, Goats and sheep, rams and bulls Bleat and moo in joyous ecstasy. Kids and calves bray and fray Smoke rises from cooking places. It is Feok! A hallowed day, a merry day; Bubbly with contentment and laughter. Today we drink, and we eat, We celebrate and make merry And dance with grace and skill The rhythm of our land. Like one mighty beating heart, The land throbs with graceful steps. The hills ring with voices of song As we recall the valour and skill, The courage and strength, And the charity of our fathers, Who rose against the cowardly Babatu an d his marauding beasts; And slew an

The Song of Atuga (After J.R.R. Tolkien)

By John Akanvariyuei Agandin - September 29, 2017

The earth was full, the valleys green The plains stretched on from east to west The skies were clear and full of bird song When Atuga rose and walked the land. He loved the plains most rich and fair Bathed by light of sun, moon, and stars. He named the nameless hills and vales He drank from yet unsullied streams He beheld the remnants of the land And perceived them most fair and bold Read: Village Boy Impressions - FEOK - The Hallowed Festival of the Builsa The world was fair and less callous In those days before the coming Of mounted raiders and plunderers From the North, the East, and West And from far South over many seas. No stain yet on the land was seen; No axe was laid to the verdant shrub No raging fires to the brown sward No plough had broken the loamy fields All was fair and good in Atuga’s day. Then said he, ‘this shall be my home’ And among the remnant, he abode From them chose he a maiden to wife Dar

Unsung Heroines

By John Akanvariyuei Agandin - May 09, 2022

The sun is searing hot Hurling down fierce fuming rays. Earth roasts under his angry gaze As meat over blazing coals. Everything bows in submission Men, birds, beasts, and beetles Trees, shrubs and every blade of grass Droops in defeat and compliance. On this sweltering March noon ablaze Upon a deserted path in defiance , A solitary figure lumbers on. Bent forward with a stern grit, with A double load of wood and flesh, Labouring on, towards The distant din of a village market! Read: Village Boy Impressions - Fathers A mother, with her mewling infant And a hefty load of firewood Trudging to the market To buy salt and pepper That she may feed her family! Her man, probably lounging in a bar Had shoved at her a basket of millet With nothing else for soup. She had gone to the mortar To thresh that millet with sore palms And upon her grinding stone Milled it all into flour. She went to the river with a big pot Till all the bigger pots at home brimmed over. But

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