Village boy Impressions

Beneath this round earthen vessel, On this little knoll of the old ruins, Beside this far green vale,  Lies a noble son of the soil: Agandin (King George), begotten of Adaayoma, The son of Adisimi, the son of Abooyie, The son of Anyinduima. Of the house of Alam in Atuga’s line. Girded in life with truth, wisdom and love, And in manners as in everything else Was he both pleasant and severe. As quick to praise as to chide Neither esteeming the mighty Nor treading the lowly. To his neighbours far and near, friendly But to the unscrupulous, a mighty rod of justice. In love, right, and peace, his time was spent. His labour done, silently he departed  Most lamented, the few rejoiced,  But in eternal bliss now rests he Where evil doeth fear to tread He was not old except in years! 21st July 2019 (10th anniversary of his transition into glory)  Accra. Read My Tribute to Him Here:  Once A Giant Walked The Earth

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

When evenings in Sandema were dark, His footsteps on the road were heard, On journeys long with his Bible in hand, In Faith and works he showed the way. From Kori number 1 to number 2 both, From nearby Kobdema to far-off Kalijiisa, Across streams to Nyaansa and hills to Suwarinsa, A weary pilgrim on many treacherous roads. With girls and boys, men and women, With Roman Catholics and protestant folk, With those of faith and those without it, All their sorrows and joys he shared. A gentle voice, a helping hand, Knees that bleed from kneeling in prayer, A soft cackling laugh, with seamless teeth, The perfect listener, with limitless patience. Long upon an empty stomach he went, And defied both the devil and his lieutenants, His Bible and faith were his only staff, Upon them, he leaned and hoped and prayed.             Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Fathers Hail the man Jacob Adongo Atambilla, The son of Atambilla of Bongo Gorogo, Who today

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

Children dancing 'Nagela' in front of a compound. Photo Credit: Franz Kröger ( buluk.de ) When the harvest is all done and dusted  And the fields lie empty and desolate When the groundnuts are all plucked The Bambara beans dug up roots and all When all the sorghum in the field is felled And only sharp prickly remnants remain When tethering the goats is now ended And the boys gain such a relief As to sigh with gratitude bordering on piety Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Tethering Goats When the shepherds no more chase the sheep The cowherds no longer shout at errant bulls And the moon is happy enough To make the cripple hungry for a walk, Do we nightly gather before the house; Mothers, fathers, uncles, and aunts, Teens, children, toddlers and babies Brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces With cousins, bastards and orphans too. There we tell many a tale and laugh Unrestrained juvenile squealing That rouses the sleeping chickens and ducks. W

Photo Credit: Franz Kröger All over the land of Buluk, over hills and fields  Where long grass grows and stout trees thrive   The trade wind comes racing, swelling about the trees   What news from the north, Oh hurrying wind?   What tidings do you bear in your dusty breeze?   Have you seen Azantilow the tall and mighty   By sun, moon or by starlight bright?   Where now is he, the bold, the ancient, the brave?   Maybe you have heard the horn of the son of  Ayieta.   Echoing in the hills and vales of the land Upon azagsuk , long I stood and listened Under the shade of acham I tarried in vain Tell me not that he is no more! But alas, his horn is silent, and his feet are cold The north wind is still, impotent with tears                             Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Song of Atuga Towards akumcham ever shall I gaze There our foes fled in dismay Before its dying stump, ever I sigh Under its withered crown ever I wait, O, Ayieta b

Blest the bygone days of sweet remembrance, When childhood was innocence indeed. Moonlit nights were songs and dances And New Year treats were ‘alewa’. Colourful tongues told the story. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Folktales The days when pito was the drink, And we only ate to quell hunger, A large protruding belly was our goal And the oily mouth, an envious sight. Only fun, food and friends mattered. Our teachers still taught us manners and prayers  And learning was its own reward  A holy curiosity to discover the secrets Of our environment drove us on To outshine the other in class was the prize. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Days of Bliss In homes were heard loud rolling laughters, Guests were welcomed with genuine smiles, In happiness, we celebrated all successes Burrying in sorrow and tears, our friends And aiding freely and willingly, those in need. But what do we have here now? An unchained ‘modernity’ of madness