Village boy Impressions

COVID-19 tuomu [1] ! COVID-19 tuomu!  COVID 19 tuomu ka to-biok paa  Bu lorima a gaam ngam-buloata meena kama.  Bu wei a pagra ka nna yegayega.  Tuomu de bo ka dunia meena  Bu bo Feliteng, abo nurisobsa teng,  Bu bo sagi, abo mwazuk  Bu bo yening, abo kori  Bu bo guuta, abo viak.  Bu ka bain-ya.  Tuomu de kan chali ngoota, kan chali tuulimoa.  Bu a yig felisa, a yig nurisobsa  Bu ze pagroa alege ka nuwoboa.  Bu a yig ngankpagsa, a yig bisa  Ale buloata meena, bu kan kisi. Bu be ako ka dila me Poom ka nipok nisom ale nidoa nisom Ale bai ale ngaam ta tueta ti chaab la Ni te ti ti mwasi chali along corona virusiwa Ale bu ka tiimoa, bu ka garipen ya Tuomu de ka jambaleetieng! COVID-19 tuomu a leeli ka nna A se wonkarik bulim la. A nye ti fu a chesim, a koasi, fi zuk kasim adom Fi nying ka atoling nna yegyega. Alege bu yig nurba gela me kama Ate dila diidii kan nye ba Ba nying a kan nye 'fiin' me la. Ate badek poom ze ayen ba ta tuomu Ate ba yaa ta nyee

Stay calm and keep betting  Weekdays, weekends?  What are the odds?  Street soccer in Czechoslovakia, let’s bet  Jungle football in the Congo, let’s bet  Frigid futbol in Siberia, let’s bet!  Kunfu soccer in Shanghai, let’s bet!  Men’s sports, women’s sports  Children’s sports, adults’ sports  Anything sports, let’s bet!  Youth idleness?  No worries! No jobs? Pas de problème. Just bet and bet some more  Behold our doom!  Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Topsy Turvy The storm sweeps through our land Every block in every city Every street in every town Every shed in every village Betting, betting, betting! We are ravaged by day Haunted at night Beguiled in our leisure and Interrupted at our duty. Our flesh is unwilling, but worse Our very souls are infatuated Half-eaten by the cancerous worm Read:  Village Boy Impressions - Walking Backwards Bet this, bet that, bet here, bet there! Have we not obeyed your command? What more do you

Common Sense is Dead! Today we mourn the passing of an old friend and mother, Common Sense, who has been our teacher and caretaker for many years. For years we had heard of the deaths of her namesakes in Europe and North America but we did not realise that the end of our own beloved Common Sense was near. Like her namesakes who passed before her, no one knows for sure how old she was, since her birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. Affectionately known to many as Sound Thinking, Good Faith, Rational Thought,  and  Moral Fortitude,  she selflessly devoted herself to a life of service in homes, schools, hospitals and offices, helping folks get jobs done without fuss, fanfare, or drama. But alas! Never again will logic and good conscience grace our presence. She was a most loving mother, and will be remembered as having taught us such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain, The early bird gets the worm,  Life isn't always

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

Our favourite stream: Abelikpien It is an early morning, windy and bright  As I take a turn about this sandy stretch  Watching fishers draw their long nets  With straining muscles and clenched jaws  From restless waters breaking at their feet My heart stole back over the years  To our very own angling adventures  In the beloved intermittent brook at home  Wherein we bathed and played and fished  And in my mind's bright eye, I see a trout  Fluttering and dancing on a line.  Have you read:  The Mighty Abelikpien? Oft it comes about many a blazing noon That we hear the call of the stream And stealthily hasten to respond in glee Each one bearing a straight rod At whose end is tied the elastic nylon line That carries the latex or wooden float Which we rightly named ‘the gossip’ And the barbed hook right at the end Intended to impale hapless rapacious fish. In groups numbering one to many We sneak out for a nook at the brook Once snuggled