Village boy Impressions

  When the day unfolds and the sun begins to smile, When light spurts in the east and the wind begins to stir, And all the living awake in wonder and delight, I rise with eager hope to contemplate your love! When the warming sun stretches forth over the fields,  When leaf and blossom with fragrance fill the air,  And the birds their morning hymn of praise intone, I hasten from my lair that I may behold your beauty. When golden noon comes and all beasts shelter seek,  When the wind is at rest and sweat is on the brow,  And beneath the blazing roofs the kids must retire, I sit and muse upon your beauty and my heart is glad! When the sun is in the west and wind returns from the north;  When the farmer in field with longing gazes at his road home, And the labourer observes his weary day draws to fruition, I hasten the sun to his grave with longing for thee. When light and beauty is in the west, and leaf and blossom fall, When eventide hastens, and darkness must waning

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 attemp

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. BUT ABOVE ALL, Blessed are those who recognize the Lord in all whom they meet: The light of truth shines in their lives. THEY, HAVE FOUND TRUE WISDOM!! (Anonymous  Author )

Today I glanced through my window  Silent and absentmindedly. All looked dull and familiar There, the verdurous crowns of many trees Here, the multi-coloured roofs of many homes And white idle clouds hanging lazily. So it was yesterday and the day before I have seen it all before. But did I? I queried. Blinking at the unsettling thought For I have never really looked At the sylvan glade outside my window Though I see it every day. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Seasons at Home So then, 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. At this profound beauty, I gazed and gazed! In awe of their contentment and flourish. A warm glow stole over my heavy heart And the weight of the coming day Was made lighter and easier at t

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

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 tractions  Change of subject or m eaningless 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

I took a walk down the village path And read the tales on its face. The morning after a rainy night. 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 unhurried paces of romance. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Days of Bliss Long I stood reading the silent tales As far as the eye could see For many were the words on that path Speaking in varied pitches of voice Some speak in the center of the path; And leave deep tales in the dust Those are fast trodden under and lost. Others speak gruffly 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 prints diverge To the right and to the