The Time Machine 1957 (continuation)



“Welcome to the Gold coast,” said the white-man from behind us. We stood right at the place we now call the jubilee house. It was very different it looked a bit like Scotland Yard, can’t really describe the feeling but it felt different. We were all amazed at what we were seeing but not as much as what brought us to the place. “I think am going to puke,” said Mohammed, “this is Ghana,” said the white man. We followed him to a room in one of the many rooms in the mansion. The room was filled with old reports and newspapers, some from the past and other from the future. We stood around waiting for him to tell us why or what is happening is happening. “I know you guys got a lot of questions and I will answer them as we go on” but now just listen.
“Have a look at this,” he handed us one of the many newspapers and asked us to check the date. It was a newspaper named the Telegraph and it was dated 4th of November 1947. “So what does this have to do with us?” asked Nyamekye, “this was the day the first president boarded the MV Accra at Liverpool to join the United Gold Coast Convention,” said Elizabeth. “But it says there was a plane crash on that same day?” I asked. “Yes cos they changed it,” he said. Apparently, the time machine was not just one and a group called the citizens which were a kind of a cult group seeking total dominance of the world.
“So they are trying to eliminate the prominent African leaders first?” asked Mohammed “not exactly, they need just one person or should I say one country. Ghana is blessed in the past and the future and it’s at the center of the world.” So we had to save the president from the plane crash. And we had to get to London which was cool cos I never ever dreamt of it. We left the country on the 2nd of November 1947. The plane ride was magnificent and if this is the past then I don’t know what the future holds. You may ask why we didn’t use the time machine, and my answer would be, come on, it’s in Ghana in the sixties and also you can only jump ones into a timeline which leaves a window which leads to the present. It’s more of magical than scientific.
Liverpool was magnificent. The type of buildings and other stuff. But to be honest some parts looked like Ghana which is obvious. So that is all about Liverpool. We checked into a hotel closer to the airport and a bit closer to Liverpool University where the president schooled. We arrived late in the night and had to go to bed for no reason. But well we can’t complain. My sister was left in Gold coast so it was just us four and the white man.
Later that day, at a meeting to save the president
“The president leaves for the Gold coast at 4:00 pm we just need to convince him not to board the plane. We could have stopped the bombing but we don’t know how they did it so we just have to either smuggle him out of the country before his scheduled departure or let it pass” he said. “I think letting it pass would be the best move,” I said. “At exactly eight we leave for his apartment.” Continued the white-man
At the president’s apartment
Looking more youthful with the drown back hairline, the president or the future president if I may say just suited up and is ready to join a cab to the airport. He sits on a chair on the porch of the apartment waiting. We arrived at his apartment just about when he was ready to enter the cab. A shot was fired which was targeted on the president. The white-man then drove right at the side of the cab signaling the president to enter. He hesitated at first but looking at the circumstance he had no choice and all the while they were still shooting at us.
The white man was able to drive away to avoid any of us getting hurt. We drove to a house which was a bit different from the houses we saw earlier in the city. “Where are we?” asked Mohammed “a safe house,” said the white man. “A safe house in …? How convenient?” said the President, “Mr. President your life is in danger,” said the white man “why do you call me that,” asked Mr. Kwame Francis Nkrumah. “Time will tell. So we stayed in the safe house for like hours and the president kept pacing up and down in the living room. I knew what was wrong but was that really the problem? Well, that I couldn’t tell. “Okay so I have to be in the gold coast by now,” said Mr. Kwame Francis Nkrumah. Let me call him the president.
“In which part of your life is in danger don’t you get” responded the white-man. the room was very quiet for a while then bullets started flying in we all fell on the ground as the person outside shot till he was out of armor then he stopped and drove off. We all got up I checked on the guys and they were all okay so I came back to the sitting room and the president was covered in blood, almost in tears he points to the floor and there lies the Whiteman in a pool of blood. “Oh my God” the words that came out of my mouth but it wasn’t what I was thinking “how would we get home now” was my main concern. We walked about in the room not knowing what to do, but suddenly there was a knock on the door… the story continues.


There Is a God Up There.

The big bang, the evolution theory, E=MC squared, they do tell a story, a story of proof of how the world managed to create for itself every bit of its immensities that helps to sustain itself. From the June rains to dry January (don’t worry its Ghana weather). I also thank the universe for the sun and how it takes most of the year just winding me up but it is perfect though, but am complaining still.

The universe is very intelligent, creating man and woman with the perfect genitals that fit (and nothing or anyway apart from that is sex, just saying) and the perfect organ that holds babies for months, and how the sea billows and never overflows it banks on less acted upon by forces beyond its control and a whole lot of other stuff.

Do you know that if gravity was slightly more powerful the universe would collapse into a ball, also if it was slightly less powerful the universe would fly apart and there would be no stars or planet and if the ratio of the electromagnetic force to the strong force wasn’t one percent life wouldn’t exist? Now tell me what are odds of that happening in just a bang?

There are billions of people on the planet, and I’m the one writing this, what are the odds? I humbly conclude there is a GOD UP THERE. Thank you, Sheldon Cooper.

photo credit: Google pics

The Time Machine 1957


So it all started a long, long time ago in a small eatery in the very poorest of town in Nineveh, oh sorry! Not the poorest but the most crowded or maybe not. In the time where doctors were called the physicians and kings really existed. That was not the exact description I intended but the last one is true. There was a time in my little country, Ghana where everyone was in shorts and a dress shirt pulled together by braces. This was the good times in Ghana. This story am about to tell has scenes of nudity, strong language, and a very bad satiric literature, you might want to just not read, but what will that do to us? If not make us dumb. This is the story I call the messed up old days and it is my story, and there is a time machine in it.
I sat on my father’s lazy chair at the entrance to my room feeling myself, am the average Ghanaian youth. Dark in complexion and of average height. Girls like me for what I have down there not my looks, so I don’t care If am handsome or not. My house is at a fishing harbor in the town in the capital of my country, Ghana. It’s a beautiful town, properly organized and filled with white men from overseas. I usually visit my father who works at the harbor, he mainly sits in the tall building with the big light that rotates. My town is called James town and it’s beautiful now, but I don’t know about tomorrow.
I like hanging around with my father cos he is fucken funny. He is not Ga but, he has lived all his life in James town so he is fluent in the Ga language, and it’s very interesting when he is with his friends. My mother is fair and very pretty, I wonder the medicine my father used to land such a beautiful lady and I am really happy with my future self, cos hey, if my father could do it so can I. “hello aunty Ama, Is Rudolf at home?” that is my friend Mohammed at the door, he is my closest friend in the town but not the only. I see myself as the person who doesn’t need to restrict himself to just one best friend, I think I am the people’s person and I love it that way. “What is the problem Mohammed?” she asks “nothing aunty Ama,” he said “okay if you say so, he is in his room,” she said.
“What do you want?” I asked “don’t be silly, where is your sister?” he asked, “she doesn’t like you, what girl will like you with all your tribal makes, your face looks like the stone the butcher uses to sharpen his knife, sia.” “Wo maame twe wai, anyways am here to tell you about a job my father talk to me about, it’s an antique shop at the outskirt of the town and it’s owned by a white man so I think the pay is good?” he said. “Okay let’s check it out then,” I said as I put on some cloth and stepped out.
The journey was not that far for the reason being that our house is much closer to the outskirt of the town. We walked our way to the antique shop of this white man. The shop was situated along the road and it was massive. It’s a two story-building and purple in color and with antique doors and window frames. “So this is it right? I asked “yes” he responded. “Hello, is anyone here” inquired Mohammed. “You must be Mohammed and Rudolf,” said a voice from behind. It was a foreign accent British I think, we turned around and it was a white-bearded man in a suit and a hat. “Yes, we are” we chorused. “Get seated, let’s wait for the rest,” he said.
“Hello,” said a voice, the inside of the building was filled with different antiques and was very crowded with so much stuff that I think was very expensive. The voice was a female’s voice and they were two apparently. We sat for a while before the white-man introduced us. They were very cute and I liked that feeling, as I told you if my father could, I can too. They were both fair, quite skinny but in a cute way and again I liked it. I think I will die here. “Guys, follow me,” said the white-man he instructed us to lift a huge clock and follow him as he directs us to the place he wants it to be at. We immediately carried it and asked the ladies to relax cos we got it. But it was heavy and carrying it to the second floor was not an easy journey. I could feel my colon crawling out my anus but looking at Mohammed’s face made me laugh and I dropped it. The man was pissed and told us to be careful with it. We placed it in a room. Which gave me the impression he wasn’t selling that one.
“Are you not selling this one?” I asked “no this is my time machine,” he said “time machine?” asked one of the girls “yes,” he said. “Our work will start tomorrow, go home and prepare yourself for tomorrow” he continued as we made our way downstairs. We walked the ladies to the bus station. They lived in a town ahead of ours called Labadi. The one I liked was Nyamekye and the other one who was much taller was Elizabeth.
The night was a long one, I couldn’t sleep and kept thinking about the job. “But he was joking,” I said to myself. I could hear a voice from outside my room, the moon was bloody and the sky was without a star. I could hear the footsteps of soldiers. My father came into my room to see if am okay and then went to the door to peep through the little peep-hole in it. “White soldiers everywhere,” he said.” I thought we won independence a decade ago.” I said. Thought we were safe but no they came in the house captured my parents but I and my sister were able to escape, and having nowhere to run to I decided we go to the antique shop.
At the antique shop, the man wasn’t around and the door was wide open so we stayed and made a bed for ourselves. Soon the morning came and the man wasn’t anywhere to be found. We thought we were the only ones that slept the night but we realized the girls and Mohammed were also there. “Nyamekye, they got to your town also?” I asked “yes and our parents,” she said. Elizabeth was still sleeping. After a while we all and by we all I mean myself, Mohammed, my sister Akua, Nyamekye and Elizabeth. We made our way upstairs and found a note on the floor in front of the huge clock.
KEY: 1957

Summer Solstice



Just in case the sensation stops tingling

Just in case my love stops laughing

Tell me we will keep riding

To when the sun never stops burning


Tell me it is Norway.


Our June oil is out

So let us meet in December

Hold my hand lets head south

And this day we might always remember


For this is the place the sun never sleeps.



“In Snow White’s Dream”


Like a dream I think I found him, staring right at me across all the tables and the tens. Looking right through my eyes into my soul. I love him but does he? (Now that’s the problem I have with love at first, who loves who first and does the other feel same?) I think its love at first sight. He was walking straight to where I sat with the girls. We called ourselves the Nicky geng (a slang meaning gang. I know you rolled your eyes.)  I was princess Nicky and the other two were afia Nicky who was a bit fair in complexion we were of the same age twenty-five and Akosua Nicky who was just dark as I am and the youngest, twenty-two.

I knew he wanted to ask me out, how? Good question. Imagine you are the girl guys talk to when they want to talk to your pretty friends or the only girls in the group who hardly get hit on when you are at the club? I have to be this desperate, I just have to. We were lined up just in front of the bartender, and you would ask how I noticed him notice me. Well, the girls were chit chatting about last night that I wasn’t part of. Apparently, I missed out on a friend’s birthday party because my religious and over sanctimonious double standard parent wouldn’t let me go out on a working day. And it was Thursday just a day before the weekend, what could have gone wrong? (Everything, and I am not kidding).

Am a bit plumb just like my mother with all the junks in the right places, and am not saying I don’t get hit on am just saying it should be the guys I like for ones. So here I was spying with the corner of my eye if he is really coming my way or its just snow white’s dream. “Good he is coming this way,” I said out loud. “What,” asked Akosua as they both looked at me surprised? “Oh, nothing” I responded. I think my heart was racing my palms all wet and I was a bit drunk. Friday nights start early right?

He passed three tables, and just one left and it would be true (My love story I mean). But he stops I think his phone rang and he had to leave the bar. “Oh, shit,” I said “what is wrong with you” shouted afia. “Nothing,” I said and I started to chip into their conversation just to get over the heartbreak. I guess this is what it Is, life. This is just it giving out lemons even if all you want is a pineapple.

The rest of the night was all shorts and dancing with strangers. Oh but before that this happened. He came back and walked straight to afia at the far end. He pulled her aside and they talked for a while I think he exchanged numbers. After he looked at me with that same look. That is why I got so drunk that night. The next day was a Saturday and was a sad one with a pretty massive hangover, I thought I would forget about it but no I didn’t.

It was around noon when afia came to my house shouting “check out your window” I hesitated at first but I thought I heard a song play, it was my favorite pop song (I don’t have a favorite when it comes to good music. But it was sit still, look pretty) so there he stood with a boom player held above his head with his t-shirt saying WOULD YOU GO OUT WITH ME? The voice got a bit louder and louder and I finally opened my eyes, it was a dream.

I am married to him now, so I guess it was true all this time.






It is hard for me to close my eyes

When the night is as cold as ice

So I resolve it with a toss of dice

And guess what the dare is?

A tall glass of wine.

It’s a dilemma of course.

And you would think it is the kind

That would take a special kind of force.

Perhaps, a celestial being to make it stop rotating.

To conjure a button for the pit,

To let the voice go away.

And the song that feels so strong making you feel

You belong out in space where days are oblivious and the

Nights are woken.

But nothing exists in space? No minute.

The hands of the clock are tied

So I wait, and just maybe when the sands sink into time

The north will call it a day, the south will drift astray,

The west will make way as the east will be the only horizon I phase.

My nights may come back, but my days are marked.

The dreams that waste my days wishing for stars.

For it stops at a point when my heart feels it is beneath him to serve again,

When my lungs can’t take the fumes from those dirty days and would cough out the pain,

When my heart will just give up to the sweet symphony the heart plays as it, stops to sing.

Tick, tock, tick, tock and it diminishes into the breathless dark.

Beneath My Beautiful


Beneath my beautiful lies a river flowing through the turns and curves of this wasteland I call home

Beneath my beautiful lies a lake filled with plastic love and a stench that ceases your breath

Beneath my beautiful, these lands lay waste till the day of the lords

My body lays to bare the contour of a land flowing with milk and honey

But in the sweetest spot lay a forest populated by bears and scornful predators.

My heart pumps the beats of love but my mind sings otherwise.

My hearts yearns for yours but my mind.

I search for it in frontiers I never reach, but with just a touch I am there.

Trace your way to my heart

But beneath that beautiful will you find that sight that will linger in your thoughts always,

But beneath that beautiful will men lust till they break every corner of their home.

I hope my curves never sway you

I hope my lies never give you the blues

I hope my lips sing songs that never end

Would you let me see yours?

Run Kwesi Run!!


The guy running for his dear life is kwesi, kwesi nyame he is affectionately called by his peers. Kwesi nyame is one son of a “B”, kwesi nyame is the area commando. Kwesi nyame thinks he can destroy the whole world with a flick of his fingers even without the infinity stones. You would think kwesi nyame would use his superpower for a good course but no he is to be served. Kwesi nyame is not in a race hence not the reason for the cheers, kwesi nyame is running away from something, and that thing is …

Well it is a long story so let me start from the middle, we stood in the middle of nowhere with our mouth wide open as kwesi beat the hell out of a stranger we came across on our way to find kwesi’s kryptonite and destroy it before his enemies get hold of it. This journey we were embarking on was not of our free will and till we accomplish our mission we are his abled minions at the beg and call to his command.

The beatings were over and we had to continue our journey. I have gone on such adventure with Kwesi but this one got my heart racing, I don’t know but is love the reason?  And it wasn’t even me, it was him. At school, he met this girl I think he likes so he decided to take her address and visit her during the weekend. You would ask why my heart was racing. And I would say he bullied it out of the girl. So I was wondering how he would introduce himself and us to the girl’s parent.

Kwesi is the last born of his parents hence the insubordination on his part. I think in his house everything went his way so he couldn’t take any rejection and also part of it stems from the fact that he is always bullied by his three senior brothers. The journey was a long and an unpleasant one. But we got here. House number f/3 community five.

“This is the house,” he said looking up and down the wall and the paper he was holding. He knocked on the door before he realized there was a bell. He rang it like a madman which was not surprising. After some minute the girl’s brother who apparently is at the same school came to see us at the gate. Before, I saw the expression on his face change just as he got to the gate and saw the author of pain at the door.

“hey slim things,” said Kwesi

“hello” responded the girl’s brother in a soft and frightened voice.

“what can I do for you, Fred?”

“where is your sister?”

“she is inside” he responded

“well, go on tell her am here,” said kwasi, who apparently is Fred at school.

The brother of the girl went inside the house for a very long time, which got us wondering if he or his sister would come to the gate. We stood outside for about twenty minutes minus the time we spent ringing the bell. I bet the spaghetti guy wouldn’t come out even if he is offered Yara Shahidi (the Black-ish girl) for his bride. I would enter the lake of fire just to kiss her on the hands, just saying. Kwesi decided to ring the bell again. But this time it was the mother, she asked him all the questions and asked just him to come inside.

He was inside for a while, but we were still outside waiting for our boss. We saw a tree and went to stand under it for shade. A couple of minutes passed and we saw these three “macho men” enter the house. We looked at each other and wondering why? But hey it could be their house too. It only took about two minutes after they have entered for us to hear a loud scream emanate from the house “ajeei! Ajeei!!” that was Kwesi’s voice I said. “Is today the day?” I said.

The screams went on for a while then we heard a rush from the house. It was kwesi who came out running barefooted screaming “awurade gye me oo” (God save me) we stood with delight in our heart. Finally, our prayers have been answered. But we instinctively started to cheer for Kwesi just in case he got away and we had to face him at home. “Run kwesi run”. The girl’s mother turned and shouted you guys are next and just like the flash we vanished in a speed of light.  I think one of my friends jumped time cos we saw him lying on a lover’s bench at home like he wasn’t even with us.

Kwesi came home later so upset no one was able to ask him any question. And he the same.



Wish Me Luck


I pass my stop, walking my way up the hills

I would miss the old times, the drinks the clubs

the trills.

I want a better tomorrow than my today

I will dig deeper in a search of a better heart.

So I pack my bag and set sail

tell everybody I am on my way

So wish me luck.

Alone on my way to where the rainbow ends,

but if I reach where it bends

I will pause for a while

and write my wrongs into songs

for the mile would mean nothing if it doesn’t

end with a smile.

So I wake up with my bag pack ready to go

in search of the pot of gold

So wish me luck.

I walk with the cloud

as I listen to its cluttering sounds

I love its company,

like beautiful creatures hanging in space.

Am in search of a good heart

I wish it was a race,

So I may touch the place where the sky and the ocean kiss.

I climb my way up the hill

with my ropes on my waist

ready to see the world in all its sides

so wish me luck.




The Leprechaun’s Bloody Pot of Gold.



For starters, this is not an Irish folktale or how the little man lost his tail. This story is about how I’m in a coffin as I tell the world my story. Most often we look at the world from a particular perspective and we wish it will talk to us or just give us what we want, even if we work or do not work for it. My message is not to show the world how I can write and you can’t. Am sweating, my heart is racing, my mind is not mine at the moment as I wonder if it was worth it or should I say why all this hell? It’s just one man’s blood?

Now, this is the story. Living in my part of the world is fantastic I won’t lie for if I have seen the world in that manner what will I be doing in a coffin at midnight in a strange forest I never knew existed in Ghana. The sweat, the pains of digging for gold and its futility, the lies from the men up there, promising us of a brighter future in exchange for our thumbs. We hurtfully cut it off but for what? Nothing better. But hey! Am not going lose my head over this trivial circumstance or let it cloud my judgment or ruin most of my childhood memories.

I thought of this world as a world without corners, a first-class street with no bumps. I had a rich father a loving mother and a family. My kid brother was my best friend. We did everything together cos I was just two years older. He was my first lookout when I brought my first girlfriend into the house, we nearly got caught. My parents returned with the story that my father had a hunch that the day was bad luck for whatever they were going to do in town. I really can’t forgive them for the blue balls.

Back to the story. Have you ever lost everything just in a day? Your mother, father, your brother and best friend at the same time. But its five years now, so I don’t have to be bitter about it, or I shouldn’t have is what I should have said or done. If I had done the later I think I wouldn’t be in this coffin sweating my heart away. But hey! It happened, my parents and brother were involved in an accident that took everything away from me. You would ask where all the riches went, and I will tell you he wasn’t that rich.

Five years on am still alive my friend are now those guys that I use to ignore when they try to sell me phones which may or may not be in good shape or just a model of the type of phone. They are mostly not phones, let’s not kid ourselves. We chill together, sleep together go on a no bathing strike together, well it’s mostly because we couldn’t afford the public shower house just around the corner. I turned a head potter in the nearby market, helping buyers carry their things from inside the market to the lorry station for a dime. But it was worth the while, at least I didn’t have to deceive people like Kwaku nyame does.

Let me tell you why I am in a coffin. It was Tuesday and not a lot of shoppers so the day was quite slow. We sat under a tree just outside the market facing the street. We were all like is it is so hot in Africa and why are our leaders selfish? But we were just hungry. Toss us a piece of bread and you wouldn’t hear us speak about any person and our country, in particular, I think we just didn’t care. It was me, and am Skye by the way, Kwaku nyame (god) and Yaw kitiwa (small).  We spoke about many things and how we could be rich in just seconds which Kwaku nyame brought up. He said he knew this guy who knew a guy who could make us rich. And yes if you are asking it is about black voodoo and yes we agreed to take that path.

Our first visit went well, we just had to offer the dwarf that was vomiting the money we got just some cola nut and a thousand cedi. Getting the money was the problem but we did it. The first year of being rich again was fantastic. We became the talk of the town everyone wanted to be us. We drove around in our corolla S. partying here and there drinking good wine and fine girls if you get what mean.

But after the second year the money stopped coming, the sack was now empty, so we decided to visit the voodoo guy again. We told him what happened and he said that ritual had an expiring date and if we want the one they call the “well never dry” we had to do something. Which was to sleep in a coffin for a whole night. We decided to oblige after all what could go wrong. We visited his place as scheduled. He did some ritual and told us to take off our clothes and lay in the coffin. We did as he instructed but then this happened or should I say this is what he said “ONE OF YOU WILL REST IN THE ARMS OF THE ANCESTORS FOR TO GIVE THEY HAD TO TAKE” followed by a contemptuous laughter which faded with his footsteps.

So here I am wondering if I would be the one to go. While I was at it, this is all that came to mind

“Write the world a song

tell the world where you went wrong.

Tell the world a lie

and watch it die.

Say nothing to the world

and it will hate you the more.

So sing into the world’s ear you trials

Maybe they may listen or blame you

But all the same, you lived.”