Even though that is not her real name I thought I should use it. Not necessarily because I don’t want people to know her real name, because I doubt any reader of mine might know her. Amy with the beautiful hair and eyes, and a very wide smile which went on and on.

I don’t really remember when I officially met her, my memory could not stretch that far. But I do remember that in the beginning we were friends. She would spend days with my family and I at home, because she lived nearby and also her mom had to work on weekends.

Kids are fearless now that I think about it, we were told to never allow her go to sleep when she came around. We were suppose to entertain her with games, movies and conversation and we kind of never questioned that. Maybe our minds was clouded by the fact that we were given a “Carte Blanche”, whenever Amy was around to watch as much TV as we want, that we forgot to question such directives, or we just being kids. But we were soon to know.

Her mum had dropped her off per usual on Saturdays, we were happy to see her. We had gathered later on to watch TV and we realized that Amy was no where to be found. My sister walked into the bedroom only to find her sleeping ever soo soundly, we woke Amy up for a good 10mins and she never woke up.

An initial suspicion that she might have died in her sleep was quickly quenched when we realized that she was breathing, she just couldn’t wake up. We quickly went out to inform a grown up who was in this case my dad, he just happened to be home and before we told him what happened, the fear in our eyes betrayed us.

My dad called my mum, waited patiently for her to come and went inside the room were Amy was sleeping and started praying.

Amy came from a long line of fetish priestesses in a sense she was was marked for priestess hood even before she was born. Her mother refused and protested because she was a Christian and it worked for a while till she (Amy), mistakenly ate food that was met for the gods during a popular festival in Ghana called “Homowo”.

Homowo is a festival that is mainly celebrated in the southern part of Ghana by a group people popularly known as the GA’s. The celebration normally takes place in August and its a symbolization of when the ancestors won a victory over hunger. The word Homowo can be broken down into two syllable. “Homo” meaning hunger, and “Wo” is a hooting sound in the GA language.

During the festival there are songs, dances and a special type of food known as kpokpoi is prepared, eaten, and also thrown around by the various paramount chiefs “for the gods”.

Amy ate the food for the gods. She since then was marked by the gods as a wife for them, and since her mother refused to send her to the shrine to be officially inaugurated, the gods resorted to getting through to her whenever she sleeps.

As a child, I lapped this up. I didn’t understand what was going on but I knew that something was wrong with Amy and she became all better, when people prayed over her or she held a Bible to her while she slept.

Amy is married with two kids now. I don’t know remember when she got better, or when the gods the let her alone. But I am older now, I googled “A sickness that makes you sleep like the dead”, and it gave me Narcloepsy.

Was it Narcloepsy? The Gods?

I am just happy Amy is safe.

Beautiful Boy

You taunt me

But I would still like to flaunt you

Dark hooded eyes

Shadows fluttering like the wings of birds beneath those eyelashes

Who hurt you?


Don’t answer that

Who loved you?

But I guess you never intend to answer them anyway.

Not now

Not ever

Not to even to yourself

But I have seen the way you hide behind the cocoon of yourself

An image of


An indifference attitude

They way you swagger in your tortured soul

Your restlessness in your wandering spirit

A carefree imp

An incorrigible sadist

Who hurt you?


Who loved you?

I would like to unravel you

Peel away these shadows that lurk behind your eyes.

Strip you of your every masquerade mask you wear for every occasion

I would like to see you naked

Not naked in form

But of mind.

I want to see your defenses down

I want you to lower your guard

Can you?

And you still haven’t answered my question

Who hurt you?

Oh! Shoot

I meant who loved you?

The man

I saw a man.

I wish I could say in my dreams.

That way he would be mine and mine only.

But no.

He was real.

Every delicious dark chocolate skin of his was real.

His walk

His look.

He gestured.

I was transfixed.

His smile.

His eyes.

He looked my way.

I was dumbstruck.

I saw a man.

I mistook him for a girl.

He was beautiful.

Every movement of his body oozed sensuality.

Like a prime feline it seems as if every movement of his was calculated.

Just a measure of smile.

Not too wide.

Not too close.

Just a slight movement of his arm

Not too wide.

Not too close.

Just a slow glance at my way.

Not too obvious.

But a registration of “yes! I saw you!

I saw a man.

Feets bare on the ground.

Trousers somewhere mid legs.

Brown shirt with an Afro hair.

He was simple.

I should not have noticed him.

But he had this flair around him.

This energy.


I was soo caught up I forgot to look away.

I saw a man.

He took the mic and sang.

He gave me a cheeky look.

A cheeky smile.

And a stare created from the hottest pit of hell.

It was an inferno!!!!

It burned!!!

I saw a man.

But I doubt if he even noticed me.

How are you?

I need a second to gather my thoughts,

If given an hour I can write a book.

My answer if am able to say it

Will be one full of drudgery, emotions, pent up feelings revealing secrets.

But I do not have an hour

Or minute

What I have is now.

I am fine.

Caught up

I hear of things I would love to talk about

I listen to words I would love to say it back


I do manage my words enough to convey my message

Most times

I feel so choked up with those words I barely manage to cough it up.

I’m I sad?

What is sadness? a sudden uncontrollable sense of helplessness? If that, then yes!

But I’m fine if you ask.

I’m happy if you want.

I’m naughty if you are in the mood.

You see I want to spare you all the details

Its as gory as you can imagine

Feeling of incompleteness

A tingle spiraling out of control

As elusive as an orgasm (among other things)

I made you smile, didn’t I?

But then that wasn’t my true intent

I wanted you to see

See what I see

Feel what I feel

The raging storms

Heart beating

The thoughts

Head swarming

Drop a feet in my shoe and move a step

Press in the soles and take a breathe

Can you feel that?




Are you choked yet?

You will be fine

I will be fine


I am allergic

Or maybe nauseated

By this thing called love.

You may not agree

But trust me,

I don’t care.

I think love is full of shit

Just dig me a grave

I will snuggle with the ants

And wallow in their love bites.

I am allergic

Or maybe skeptical

About love stories and happily ever after’s.

You see, I think the dwarfs in Snow White were a bunch of gay men.

And Prince Charming in Cinderella was a weak ass man, who couldn’t catch up to a lady running away in heels.

I am allergic

And also sympathetic

To the deeds done by men all in the name of love,

Only to find out that it was never reciprocated in the first place.

I am allergic

Not a fanatic

I still believe in love.

But not for me.


The strings of a bow are tied to my nerves.

My mind is like open maize field

Filled with corn and yet so empty and sparse

Call my name

Did you call it twice?


There was an echo

It rang in my head with a huge clanging noise

I can’t breath

“I will be fine, I will be fine”

There goes my mantra

A repeated phrase of sheer willfulness

Forced down my throat in an attempt to save me from self destruct

Is this a joke?

Am I a source of amusement for a power higher up?

Does he or she tickle themselves with my distress

And laugh at my pain?

A puppet

Pull a string here for pain

Pull a string there for distress

And so it goes

Each other day

“I will be fine, I will be fine”.

The little things in life.

Dad was going on retirement so we had many well wishers bringing gifts to the house. I remember very clearly how we got so many things and was even awed at the love people were showing.

Most of the gifts also came from people we went to church with, and there was one gift in particular that the name “Deaf ministry” was pasted broadly on, and I remember thinking at that time how a whole ministry could give out such a small gift so it remained unwrapped(I was in charge of unwrapping).

The next morning, my dad and I decided to take coffee. He’s a diabetic and has been cautioned to take only the decaf one, so he had already injected his insulin, I heated the water and 30mins after the injection he was ready take his coffee only for him to meet an empty decaf bottle.

As with diabetics, he started sweating and I needed to get him something real quick. I don’t know what prompted me to go and pick up the gift I refused to unwrap a day before but I did, and in it was a decaf coffee. And trust me, that was the most celebrated gift in the house.

Most times we chase after the big things, because we want big changes. Changes are subtle, they are silent and they come in small quantities. Let’s appreciate the little things in life.

Jesus Saves Ministry

My dearest Abena,

I do not know why you still insist that we use letter writing as our only form of communication, it is the year 2022 and there are so many ways we could keep in touch. I could call, text or even email you. But as you mentioned in your last letter, writing to me feels exactly like having me close to you whispering the words into your ears, so I will endeavor to write to you everyday, anything to make you happy my dearest Abena.

Now to the question you asked me in your last letter, “Do you have a church that you go to”?, I am afraid to tell you that I do not attend any church at the moment, and I honestly do not see myself doing so in the near future. Don’t be surprised my dearest Abena, I used to be a staunch Christian and a church goer some few years back. Church was like a holy sanctuary to me and I shunned everyone I knew, that neither go to church or do not believe in God. Heaven was the goal my dearest Abena, I clung to the teachings of both the church and Bible and held on tight to them like the drawstrings of a woman’s corset.

Then one day the Most Reverend Pastor Ogya mframa, head pastor of Jesus Saves Ministry announced that there was going to be a very big crusade, a crusade of such renounce that the whole world will be compelled to attend. Oh! I was excited my dearest Abena, I had been a member of Jesus Saves Ministry for so long and yet, I have never fell under the anointing. I have also been bounced by the American embassy more times that I could count, but I always took my passport for prayers, I always bought bottles and bottles of holy water to sprinkle over my passport anytime I had an appointment at the embassy. My dearest Abena, I felt it in my bones, this was my time! I had seen it being done for so many people, testimonies upon testimonies, I had fasted and prayed and I was sure that the Crusade was my answer.

I bought new shirt for the event, ironed it carefully I had a front row and I was so happy for myself because I was sure that I was going to be noticed today. Most Reverend Pastor Ogya Mframa was a good 30mins late to the crusade, but it didnt matter, the most important thing was that he came. First wave of intense prayers and tongues speaking started, the atmosphere was charged.

When it got to the part where the Most Reverend had allocated for miracles and testimonies, I grew more excited my dear Abena, I nearly tripped on my feet trying to get closer to the raised platform where the miracles were happening. Most Reverend healed the crippled, the blind, the deaf, people with unexplained medical problems and in my haste to get in line, passport in hand, and a lot of faith in my heart, I bumped into neighbor my Aunty Yaa. I was confused, when I was leaving home I saw Aunty Yaa, and I have known for a while now, why is she here holding a walking stick and being walked to the platform by a young man, could it be between the time I left home and got here something happened to Aunty Yaa?

So my Dearest Abena you see where I am going with this, I looked up further the queue and I realized that I recognize most of the people lined up. My neighbor, that usher in the church, the barber who has a tiny shop located a street away from house, the man who is in charge of the public restroom, at this point my mouth was hanged open because they were all here with one kind of physical disability or the other and the Most Reverend was “healing” them. I suddenly walked out from the queue because I couldn’t fathom what was going on, and didn’t stop till I got home.

The next day I saw my neighbor Aunty Yaa hanging out her clothes and she asked me how much I was paid, to be at the crusade and what was my suppose disability. I looked confused but she somehow mistook it for lack of trust in her, so she told me that I could trust her, and that she often does these kind of job, she could introduce me to some few pastors if I was interested.

That my dearest Abena, was the last time I went to church.

Next girl, please.

My heels make soft clicks against the pavement of Accra as I walk towards my destination. I am late, I wasted a good 20mins checking myself up in the mirror after I had finished dressing up, I checked how I looked smiling, laughing and finally walking. I feel confident and judging by the appreciative glances I seem to be getting, I had every right to.

I finally got to the trotro station and hopped into a car, I got a window seat, so I sent a quick thanks to the God of trotro and made myself comfortable.

In less than 10mins the trotro was full and we were on our way, then someone tapped me. I turned and realized it was the person behind me, it was a woman and she handed me a phone.

I turned to look at her with a blank expression and she pointed at someone behind her, I looked and it was a man. A very large man sitting at the back of the trotro and he mouthed these words “your number”.

I shook my head as politely as I could manage and returned the phone.

Within 20s the phone was back again I was annoyed this time, so I turned back again ready to tell the guy off only for him to tell me to give the phone to the next girl.

My heels make soft clicks against the pavement of Accra as I walk towards my destination. I am late, I wasted a good 20mins checking myself up in the mirror after I had finished dressing up, I checked how I looked smiling, laughing and finally walking.