The man behind the pain

Posted on by nyameyesky

 

PAINW

In the middle of an alley, he lay, resting his head on a pile of cardboard. “This is weird,” said one of the onlookers who wondered in disbelief. “Is that him?” this lady was so shocked she couldn’t just wonder but ask. Wise men say, only fools rush in, played from one of the apartment that was opposite the spot the man laid. In this apartment stood a fairly black old man with a thick black mustache and a white and black beard wondering what was going on through the window. “Mr. Ripley Jonas” called from outside the apartment. “This is for you sir, you can sign here please” the young man continued. The young white boy is an apartment neighbor of Mr. Ripley, as most the occupants refer to him as. “Thank you, Johnny,” said Mr. Ripley in a husky weary voice. Johnny handed Mr. Ripley a brown envelope. Mr. Ripley entered and locked the door behind him as he gave out a big sigh. I think he was praying. “Please don’t be it, please don’t be it” he muttered as he walked straight to the single couch in his apartment. Inside his apartment was a coffee table that was right beside the couch Mr. Ripley sat on. He had no television just an F.M receiver that was on the table under the window. His room was very tidy for a man his age.

He gave out a big cry after he had read the content of the envelope, throwing it onto the floor while at it. The letter in the envelope read the divorce something, so I guess that was the reason why. “No” he screamed. The noise resonated in every room on the third floor of the five-story building. “Mr. Ripley” called Johnny. Johnny 25, is a young Jew who has just completed college. “Yeah am alright Johnny” he responded. Through the night he sobbed on the couch and dozing off intermittently. He would have these flashbacks of how he used to play catch with all his three daughters and his son. It wasn’t all nice with the flashbacks as he sometimes would have these visions of him and a lady who I believe to be his wife in a serious quarrel.

The telephone rang and he got up from the chair to receive it. “The child support is due tomorrow,” said the voice from the other side of the telephone. “Yes, I know Christie. And it will be available” the line cut and he placed the phone slowly on the holder crumbling to the floor in tears. THIS IS WHAT I HAVE SUNK TO, THIS IS NOT THE ENDING I EXPECTED. A voice from the F.M receiver. It is as if the whole world knew about his problem and was ridiculing him. OH NO, THIS IS NOT A TRICK IT IS REAL, REAL, REAL!

It was almost midnight, the drapes that covered the window danced to the rhythm of the wind as the time tick-tocked into the night. He was still on the floor asleep. Suddenly there was a knock on his door. He suddenly woke up but in wonder thought ‘who was outside the door by this time.’ He took a look at his Rolex watch, the most expensive thing in his life at the moment. It was exactly twelve noon. On top of his voice, he screamed “who is it” walking slowly towards the door. He picked up a baseball bat that was resting were the umbrella holder was. He peered through the peephole in the door but didn’t have a clear view of the person at the gate because the hallway was dark. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Mr. Ripley” called the voice from outside. It was from Johnny. He quickly unlocked the door and let him in. “what is the problem” he asked, “they are coming.” Were the words that came out of his mouth, before he fell revealing the knife that protruded through his belly from the back. It was a weird looking dagger as he fell on his side and the blood that came out of him forming a pool around him. Mr. Ripley could do nothing but let out a scream. In the middle of the confusion, he left his door ajar and in entered three average height hooded individual. “Who are you and what do you want?” asked Mr. Ripley

“Ripley, Ripley, Ripley,” said one of the hooded individuals, van 27. “You don’t recognize us, do you? Oh right! We are hooded and in a mask.” He continued. “He will never get to know,” said the one that stood behind locking the door behind him, Benjamin 26. Mr. Ripley was about to pick up his phone but the third half of the gang Raven 24, was quick to hit him on the back. “No sir, you don’t have permission for that,” she said. Mr. Ripley was in pain and wondered if the night would get any excruciating. He took off his Rolex watch thinking they were there for the money. “You really don’t remember?” said Van. They picked him up and tied him with his hand behind and taped his mouth. “Do you recognize them” one of them showed him the picture of his all grown three girls and the boy. He tried talking but nothing came out. “Aww! We can’t hear you sir” they set up a live streaming laptop in front of him. “We want to help you sir” in the feed on the laptop was the house of his oldest daughter sleeping in her bedroom, “they want you out of their lives, but we like you. We think they have to go starting from the oldest” said Raven.

A man in all black and a clown painted face, with a knife smiling at the camera. He held up a poster to the camera that read THIS IS FROM ME WITH LOVE SIR. He then gutted the oldest daughter in the Tommy seven times. Mr. Ripley heard every decibel of scream her daughter let out before she gave up. “Do you remember now” they now turned the feed to the twins in their hostel. Mr. Ripley had tears in his eyes. Although he didn’t recognize them he knew the lady could be the girl who he molested during his days as a teacher, lecturer of the dean he couldn’t remember for his life. The guy in the feed tied both twins and hanged them from the ceiling, placed coffee tables beneath them so they could stand.

“It’s their turn, sir,” said Benjamin moving right behind him making sure Mr. Ripley could feel the warmth of his breath. The lady removed the tape from his mouth. “Say something, sir,” she said. “Clifford” shouted Mr. Ripley. “No sir, just say one of our names and they will be left off the hook,” said Van. “Please I beg of you let them go” he pleaded. “Just mention one of our names,” they said. “Lizzy” “are you Lizzy?” asked van looking at Raven. “Do it?” said Benjamin. The guy in the feed kicked the chairs and the twins hanged struggling for their life. “No, no, no, don’t turn your face,” he said hitting Mr. Ripley’s head with the back of the gun.

Mr. Ripley looked on as his two daughters were motionless hanging from the ceiling. “Please, please. No” begged Mr. Ripley. “To the last one, he is in the military right? Damn, we can’t touch him, or can we? Change the feed” said van to Benjamin. “You see look he is going for a run at dawn. No boy no. now watch what’s gonna happen” a guy dressed like a mime crossed him and hit his face with a club with spikes. The blood spread all over the camera which was held by another guy who is also in a mask.

“I think we are done here,” said Benjamin. “Yeah that’s all of them,” said Raven. Van lifted the head of Mr. Ripley and placed a dagger to his throat. “Do you still not remember?” he asked. Raven, please turn the last feed. “Aww look he is so cute,” said Raven. “Look” screamed Van holding up Mr. Ripley’s head. “Remember, remember” he continued to scream. The baby was in a crib with an anvil hanging just above it. “No, please don’t. Am sorry” he said. “Oh! Don’t worry just mention my name” said Van. “Just your name?” asked Benjamin. “He can’t remember sh*t” he replied. “One, two, three. Drop it” he said through the coms in his ear. The anvil came crashing down. The guy in the feed pushed the anvil aside to reveal the mashed and flattened body of the baby. “Not so cute anymore,” said Raven.

“The last one will be outside your window sir so you can see through the pain.” said van walking towards the window. “Bring him” he instructed. They took him to the window and far in the distance were the wife and the side chic both mouths taped and hands tied at the back kneeling on the street with two bright yellow light on them. “Will you remember now?” asked Van. The old man was almost out, he was weak and almost given up, “please, please.” He whispered. The man with the husky voice was screeching the high pitch now. “Not so manly now,” said Raven. “Run them over,” said Benjamin. A big cargo track just runs over them leaving a trace of the blood the tires imprinted on the road. “No, no, no!” Mr. Ripley knew at that moment that it was all over. They sat him down again and lined up in front of him. They brought down the hood and the mask, Raven is black with braided hair and blue eyes. Benjamin is a Muslim from Pakistan with a fairly grown beard. Van was Caucasian with the perfect check bone and a thick eyebrow, to cut it short he was devilishly handsome. “Do you remember us now?” asked Van. “Yes I do,” said Mr. Ripley. In the face of Raven, he saw a black twelve-year-old girl he molested, in the face of Benjamin the Muslim kid he made them expel from school and in Van’s eyes he said “your father was a good man. But how?”

They turned and were on their way when Mr. Ripley called “please kill me.”

“No sir, we don’t want blood on our hands,” said Van.

“Oh, and we met online,” said Raven.
THE MAN BEHIND THE PAIN

By nyameye sky

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PROPHECIES, REVELATIONS ARE THEY SELF SERVING OR SOMETHING ELSE?

Posted on by nyameyesky

bib

This has gone on for a while and when I say this I mean the 31st  December revelations most of our prophetic churches are sort of engaging in now, and by our, I mean Ghana. I don’t know how to go about this piece cos it is a sensitive area to touch. But I will say it anyway.

First and foremost, religion, no not religion. Christianity has come a long way or has remained with us for quite a while now, and it is beautiful how we can just say anything and not face any prejudice or anything of that sort. That been said it would be very sad if some of our actions or inactions can go a long way into bringing that freedom from its glorious seat to a place of chaos and discomfort. I respect what the prophets say, I love prophecies I must say, especially when it talks about a brighter tomorrow. Would we want to risk taking God out of our social setup because of things that might be right or wrong? (It is relative)

With that said, I have some questions to ask. Who are those prophecies for, the church, Christians, or the people whom the revelations concern? What is the purpose for the revelations, to save, to destroy or to draw people to Christ? Or are they things that would just happen in the year to come?

I’m not qualified to judge, or say what prophets say or sees with the third eye is wrong, but can wisdom be applied? If yes great let’s start with that, if no I pray our dear lord not being a God of chaos allow anything of that sort come to his people. But if you really know that what you are saying is false please stop (to our prophets). And we Christians also shouldn’t make it an acquired taste we yearn for every 31st of December.

To conclude I honestly must say that what I believe doesn’t matter, but what is right for Christianity is what should matter. Do we want to be that country that would take away God out of the equation because we said things to provoke a sense of reasoning which is very rational but may be wrong or we work out our duties for the church with wisdom so as to sustain the peace we have enjoyed? Prophecies shouldn’t be self-serving, it shouldn’t be destructive, but a tool for the future. Thank you

Where Is Our “New Wele” Christmas?

Posted on by nyameyesky

InShot_20181227_080033376

It’s quite funny, looking back sixteen years ago, and thinking, what happened to Christmas? Yes, what really happened to Christmas? What happened to the excitement, that sensation of getting a new toy, that wonderful but scary masquerade parade? What happened to the “new wele guy guy” walk, and finally, what happened to me?  I can vividly recall the day when I would put on my new Tommy Hilfiger already made dress (whether original or not I definitely can’t tell) and be that kid with a lot of confidence.

Is it surprising to me that it is no longer fun as it used to be? No, but the leap is of a great magnitude which is worrying. Easter is always the same, so are other festivities I’m not even a part of. Why should Christmas change? You would ask a friend, “how is your Christmas?” and their response would be, “not so Christmassy.”  So I ask again, where is our “kaakamotobi” Christmas.

I have come up with a theory that is working for me for this year. Not that of a theory, but a way to convince myself of how the Christmas spirit still leaves inside of me somewhere. Let’s get started, have you noticed how Christmas was always fun when you were a kid? Have you noticed how fantastic it was when you had to buy nothing? Have you noticed how it was when you had no cares, and being single was not much of a big deal? That is the reason for the change. Was my father feeling the same way as I was, no. was my mother that enthusiastic about the whole festivities, we all see the pretense now right. Maybe not pretense but trying just to make it fun for us I guess.

Now with all these questions being asked, this is what I think. Christmas is not always about us, never. Christmas is not a celebration for just us. Someone went out of his or her way to make it fun for us even when they had to pretend everything is fine. Someone took you out, someone made it special for you. We had all the fun because we were at the receiving end. Christmas is in three stages according to my theory. The fun stage (childish age). The not so fun age (I’m almost an adult stage), and the best part I’m dying to experience is the “to be someone’s Christmas” (the father or mother Christmas).

With this, I can convince myself that Christmas is always about sharing and making it special for ourselves even when we are all alone. Just believing that Christmas is something special is enough to make it a beautiful celebration. It doesn’t matter what you feel, cos it is never about you. Make a friend, join a family vacation, share it with the less privileged. That is what Christmas is all about, just don’t be a bitter party pooper.

photo credit: auntie Tawia.

 

 

 

THE BEST CHRISTMAS STORY

Posted on by nyameyesky

kik

CLICK HERE FOR YOUR GIFT…love and Christmas

It was windy that faithful night, the moon was nowhere in the sky, and so were the stars. I had on my nightie or my pajamas, it was the long see-through type with some kind of robe attached to it. I thought I heard someone knock on the door. I lived in an area where most middle-aged women who are also secretaries lived, I’m not lying, and it is true. The house is a single room apartment and so was every building in the estate. I made my way to the door grabbing both sides of the robe with my hands and pulling it closer to my chest to keep me warm.

“Who is it?”  I screamed, there was no reply. I then peeped through the peephole to see if someone was out there, but there was no one. So I turned away making my way back to the bedroom. After I took some couple of steps I thought I heard a cry of a baby, coming from the outside of my house. What is wrong with this world, Is what I said to myself? I quickly opened my door without hesitation, and there he lay in the box covered in a white cloth. I looked left and right just I case I might spot the owner of the baby.

Okay so this is strange, I have watched movies and have also heard a couple of stories from my friends about such stories but I thought it was some sort of a fairytale. I wouldn’t describe this situation as a lucky one, but it is for me. For a thirty-two-year-old dark skinned lady who unfortunately fits into the stereotype of a secretary who is probably dating someone’s husband, it is sort of a lucky situation. Who would have thought someone would trust me with a baby.

I pick him up with the box and brought him into my house, I checked around him to see if I would find a not or something because I would have done that. There it was a note, I KNOW WHAT I HAVE DONE IS WRONG BUT PLEASE TREAT HIM WELL IF YOU CAN. MAYBE THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR. Signed the teenage mother, and dated on the 20th of December 1993.

At the police station.

“Madam, so what you are saying is you found it on your porch late in the night?”

“Yes sir”

“And you want us to keep it here”

“Yes sir”

“Well as you can see, the social service worker is on leave and we can’t handle a baby here, so I assure you keep the baby when the social service lady resumes I will let her takeover”

The captain of the precinct was nice and convincing so I decided to leave the police station, and go to the social service office proper. But it was late and I had to go one some errands so I decided to go the next day. I was on my way to the social service office when bumped in this handsome-looking man who was apparently going my direction. We spoke for a while at the bus stop and on the bus but we had to go our separate ways.

At the social service office.

“Please madam he will be with you shortly,” said the secretary

I waited for a while and eventually was called into the office. I stated my case and the lady was willing to take over the responsibility that I thought I couldn’t bear.

“Where is the baby?” she asked

“I will bring her tomorrow,” I said.

As I was leaving the office, I met this handsome guy again. He looked a bit older than I did, still cute. He also had dark skin and was dressed quite smart.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I’m looking to adopt,” he said.

“Aww! It must be hard for your wife?” I said,

“I don’t know why you said that but I’m not married, and as you can see I’m a perfect fit of the not ready to settle stereotype match. I thought having a baby will change the minds of those I date” he said.

“What about you?” he continued

“well the opposite, I found a baby on my porch, as part of doing the right thing, and also no quite the suitable candidate for that job decided to bring him to the care of the social service,” I answered.

“You say you are not fit for the role, but do you think the system will be the right place for him?” he asked.

It was quite a thought, we talked for a long while on babies’ politics and other trivial stuff.

“See you tomorrow,” he said as he got into the bus. Mine was running late, so he had to leave. In-between our chats we fixed a date and his name was John, John Dadzie. We met the following day at a restaurant, and because of that, I canceled my appointment with the social service personnel. This had gone on for some days. I thought he was I nice guy and I took a liking to him, but I want sure the feeling was mutual. So, on the 25th of December, I decided to give the kid to the social service madam.  I had really bonded with the baby and giving him up was quite difficult, but I think it is the right thing to do.

At the social service office.

I was about to enter the room when I heard, his voice from afar screaming “wait”

He runs towards me and finally knelt right in front of me with an old looking ring in his hand.

“I know we just me for like two day and I tried calling you but I couldn’t reach you, and I didn’t want this to end so for the past two days I have been waiting around this area to do this,” in short breath he said, “will you marry me?”

“Yes I will, but I came with a package” raising the baby as a gesture of showing him the package.

“No problem,” he said.

It is a year now, married with our second born on the way, your gift may be fantastic, but mine was sent from heaven. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

photo credit; google pics

 

 

 

A Love Story (Merry Christmas!)

Posted on by nyameyesky

cpic

My gift to you… love and Christmas

I saw the spark in his eyes and his bright smile touched my heart, mistakes happen, friendship ends when love begins. That is the story of how I met the love of my life, some call it a feeling, some love but I think it is the greatest gift anyone could possibly get. Like a plant it grows, it branches provide security from the sun and its cool breezes soothe the hair and the heart at the same time.

It was exactly noon as I set off for class, with my long braided hair and my dark colored lipstick which is a good compliment on my skin. Upon reaching there he sat anxiously writing something, I think he was just starting, well that’s what he said.
“What are you doing?” I asked

“sorry I know this is your desk, I am almost done,” he said.

he was beautiful, with his braided hair just as mine but
shorter, and those cute lips just got me salivating, if you are thinking it then let me just say I’m not the type of girl but I think I have fallen in love.
“And am done,” he said. “Finally,” I said.

“thanks” “whatever,” I said just to cover up all my drooling over him. To be honest he was quite dreamy.

Days past and months and it was that time again. That time of the year that is so cool to fit into your pure Ghanaian attire and put on so many bead stringed bracelets just to show how Ghanaian and how you love your rich cultural ancestry, they call it CHALE WOTE (come let’s go) but I call it the beautiful weekend.

I always would go with my friends but this time I decided to go alone for no reason. But I think I wanted to meet someone new, someone, completely different from the friends I had. It didn’t take me a minute to start making friends, at school, am very different. I could open up and talk cos after all after today I am not going to meet them again.

We talk about many things from colonialism to beautiful half broke pots on display to how Ghana could become if we had better leaders. But for all these, there was this day that I fancied very much, “the day we could be nobody but ourselves.” That is a phrase from the greatest rapper Kanye West on Halloween. Isn’t it perfect? On this day the night will be filled with dark skin faceless angels, the masquerade party.

I jumped into my jeans with my tank top and African print petty coat, not forgetting my mask and obviously my sneakers which were also African print. The night was growing fast as I sat, watching them talk and kiss at the same time. I was happy and at the same time sad cos I was thinking it would be like always when my dating friends would be having all the fun and I would be somehow like their lookout.

he walks straight to where I was, “hello” he said, “may I have this dance” he continued with that gesture from the movies, bowing on one leg with a stretched arm. “Sure,” I said. It was like everything was premeditated by the man upstairs (God). A couple of minutes through our passionate dance this song came up DIAMONDS ON THE SOULS OF HER SHOES by Paul Simon guess what, it was one of my favorite.

We talked for a while sitting outside the house the party was happening at after I suggested it. The vibe between us was overwhelming and we were still in the mask. “Hey, follow me,” he said I hesitated for a while but what could possibly go wrong? He took me to this place where they play live acoustic music. He gave me a seat and went backstage.

I thought he was meeting someone but he came out with a guitar and started singing. His voice was angelic. “This song is special cos it is for someone special,” he said, it was this
song SOMEONE LOVES YOU HONEY by June Lodge. After that beautiful song, we went out and sat someplace quite. Where we talked through the night. “What is that?” I asked “oh this, let’s say my birthmark”, he said. I have this thing that I ask people of the opposite sex I meet just to make them uncomfortable, and it was “ if I tell you to have sex with me right now would you do it?” the night was over and I went back to my hostel and prepared for school.

Months passed and nights also, I wish I saw his face so my nights wouldn’t be that weird. But hey, it was over and life must go on. Our school was having this variety night and I
decided to attend with my friends. It was quite boring with all rap music, but I decided to stay anyway. It was the turn of my classmate, the guy who decided to finish his assignment in class.

He performed three songs with a guitar but the last one he said “I sang this song for someone special a couple of months ago, and hope this time I might find her. It was that same song. After he had performed I went up to him and asked

“if I was to ask you to have sex with me right now would you do it?”

and along with him, we chorused “it would be a blessing.”

I pulled back his long sleeves and revealed his mark. We started to kiss and were caught by our friends. He was the one I said to my friends.

Just as I said earlier for me it is a gift, the greatest gift anyone could possibly have. Love!

Love and Christmas (Poetry collection)

Posted on by nyameyesky

 

jnGrowing up, I have always wanted to write. No that’s not true at all, it started after senior high. Bored to the teeth with nothing to do, I set out on a quest to finally pick up my junior siblings from school (got you there). I was scared probably, cos instead of picking a cab I decided to walk and keep the fare for something later. It was never my intention to bore you with things I don’t understand myself, sorry in advance.

On the way to find myself (pick up my junior siblings I mean) I started talking to myself, and it was quite interesting cos it was confusing which made me come to the conclusion that I was a poet. True I didn’t understand most of the things I wrote but there was one topic I had always got the handle on, love. Not that other topics eludes me, but love always finds me. From the thickest part of my left ventricle, I present to you my second poetry collection, Love and Christmas.

The collection is filled with broken love to not all that perfect love to the kind of love we will all have and cherish, and finally an author’s love for what he loves most in the world, the happiness of those he calls fans. This is my gift to you, a love brewed in a heart of a young artist. Thank you and download, it’s free.

Download Here love and Christmas

Download Here love and Christmas

 

TIME MACHINE (Part 3)

Posted on by nyameyesky

time1

“Is everyone alright?” said the voice from outside the house. I was about to speak when the president hashed as he tiptoed his way to the front door and peered through the peephole. “It’s the police, is everyone alright” he continued. We gathered and the president asked if we could trust the policeman. “Yes,” we all chorused. So we let the policeman in and within about twenty to thirty minutes the crime scene investigators came around and did all their checks. We were asked some questions and were supposed to be transported to the police station for further questioning.

“Wait” shouted a voice from behind the police car in which I was in. we don’t know what she said to the policeman but he readily obliged and released us. “Hi my name is agent Diana and I have to take you to the airport as soon as possible. The car ride was a quiet one some were scared I especially Mohammed and Nyamekye and the President. Why the airport shouldn’t we wait and can we even leave the country” asked the president. “No Mr. President,” responded agent Diana. About agent Diana, she was around her mid-thirties very pretty and was both African and British, she had the typical kind of the British accent and again she was very pretty.  The ride to the airport was not that eventful we got there right on time and within some minutes we were on a special plane back to the gold coast. We got to the Flagstaff house where we were met by a black man who was also British. “Where is agent Kirby?” he asked but agent Diana bowed down her head before she could say anything else. “Am sorry sir he is gone,” she said with a choky voice. “May his beautiful soul rest in perfect peace,” said the man. “Come on, we have less time to waste” he continued. “We have arranged for the president to be taken to the house of his invitee, but there is a problem,” he said. And by the way, my sister also came to meet us outside, if you were wondering where she was.

“This is the new changes,” he said as he showed to us a graphic with the name the TELEGRAPH.  The heading was HOW LONG IS THE SHORTEST POSSIBLE TIME? “If it is in the date am looking at then it means the president never formed his party and still remained with the UGCC,” said Elizabeth. “That is right,” said the black man with the British accent but it has not happened yet since we are still in 1947,” I said. “That is true but this place doesn’t know time, like a quantum something.” Said the black man. “I guess they used the quantum realm, it’s like a ripple effect we solve this it sets up another one.” Said, agent Diana. “Yes let’s fix this for gold coast, and by the way, my name is Nyameye Jackson,” said the black man with the British accent.  “But the quantum realm is can jump to anytime but would need a trigger to make any changes they have made happen.” Said, Diana, as he led us into a room.

So we walked into this room with these high-tech gadgets. “Where is this?” I said, turning my head from side to side gazing at these things I saw with my own small naked eyes. “Alright we also have a time machine,” said Nyameye Jackson. “This machine can only transport just two passengers so we have to select between you four on every mission,” said Diana. “So if you are correct it has happened and we have to change it and it will be in 1949,” I said. They had to choose between the four of us for this mission. Mohammed and Nyamekye were awfully quite which was not normal of them.

“We chose you and you,” the Jackson guy said, pointing at Elizabeth and me. I think the gods heard my prayers and are fulfilling their promise. “Thanks for the matchmaking,” I said in my head. A certain guy escorted us to a room that was filled with drugs and smelled funny. We asked why? And he was like for anyone to jump time into the quantum realm you would have to be injected with some medicine of a sort.

“I never saw him,” said Elizabeth “saw who,” I asked, “my boyfriend” she responded. I didn’t know what to tell her or how I felt about the situation so I just told her everything would be alright and after we were done she would meet him again. It felt weird afterward. Fast forward we were placed in the machine which was spherical in shape with a seat in it. I was in one and so was Elizabeth. The black guy pressed a button and both our machines started spinning but still stationary. And the last thing I think I saw was the black man waving at us…

We landed in a room at the headquarters of the UGCC. We were on our own this one. We tiptoed our way through the corridors until we came facing a giant door. There was some sort of sound coming from it. I thought I could hear a man say “it is 1948 and there is a lot of time.” We were listening when suddenly the door opened and we were caught eavesdropping. It was the president but he never recognized us. “Guards! Arrest these kids” he screamed…

The Richklassman and every idiot who holds old and dead perception as truth.

Posted on by nyameyesky

 

For starters this is no anti-racism stunt or a jive at the so called white angels. This is no confrontation or a fight against shadow segregation, this is just a thought from a brother from the motherland. For unto us all love and truth and may God bless us all.  I have this question I would want to ask, black or white? And does it really matter? Are we not all the same, would it have been different if the tables were turned?

I once walked into a rich man’s house early in the morning searching for a hoe, I just thought it wasn’t a big deal, we moved to this new site and there were weeds all around so I really needed that hoe. I knocked on the huge gate and was told to come, and apparently I entered through the gate that led to the boys’ quarters, I stood there for about ten to fifteen minutes. Then this man comes out from the room asks for what I needed and I said I needed a hoe. He then says okay and goes inside the room, he later came out about ten to fifteen minutes later, and he then handed me the hoe and said “you need to cut your hair or people will think you are a thief.”

Before that incidence I thought racism was just about color or angry sour losers filled with filth who wouldn’t want to share, but no it was something within, a kind of an inbuilt system we all possess or some of us. It’s everywhere, Africa, America, Hippop, on social media and even in the news. Back to the story, I really didn’t know why, or I was in denial if I think about it now. So was all the minute he wasted doing whatever, was it a test? A test to see if I will steal anything? Was he warned by his master and he being polite thought it would be better if he put it that way?

I still wonder, and the reason was that it was a bright Saturday morning, and who combs his hair when he is about to weed? As a kid I have never smoked, or have I taken anything that wasn’t mine, well except my mother’s. I’m a fairly good kid who just want to keep a retro look. I asked myself would he have even opened the door for me if it was in the night and cigarette was after me(a creature most Ghanaian kids’ fear) would he even ask if I was the thief if the real thief run by me in the same dress, Would he?

My main problem is not them but the ones who say “it is true most thieves don’t comb their hair, most thieves braid their hair, and you can’t dress like them if you don’t want to be called one”. I find it to be absurd and silly. For starters, statistically and realistically it is never true. So when they say this I know deep inside they are like them awaiting the call (they are not rich yet).

This piece may not have made sense or otherwise, but this is all I wanted to say, black, white or rich. There is no majority or minority, there are just people in power, pushing their house boys to say things they do not want to. Calling us minority cos we can do nothing about it but that is where they are wrong, we will fight but not with guns or touches or the miss quotation of verses in the Bible. We shall grow our consciousness and fight their influence with love in our hearts. For whether black or white, rich or religious we will all die oneday.