Retirement: An ode to my favorite pair of shoes

I know this is not what you are used to reading but do indulge me a bit and let me tell you about my old shoes. Old Faithful I called them.

You see, unlike women, most men don't often own many pairs of shoes. For the average man, two or three pairs are just enough. There is the pair for work, the pair for church and other social gatherings and then there is the last pair for kick abouts. This particular pair is often loafers or sneakers (or as they are more popularly known in our part of the world, Camboo).

May I state here that their respective purposes or roles do interchange at the least notification.  For instance, the pair for church can easily be called upon to play the role of the work pair. This i have come to understand is a no no in the world of women. But with us guys, we are cool with this arrangement. The shoes don't mind at all.

So, back to my old shoes. They were black Italian made leather pair. They cost me quite a fortune when I was getting them some four years ago. I gritted my teeth knowing that the month ahead didn't look bright after buying them. But hell, I needed new pairs of shoes! 

The shoe buying decision for most men isn't an easy one to make. We often calculate the quantity of kenkey that money could purchase and wonder if we making a wise decision or not. But my shoes have been worth the Cedis I bought them with. When I first got them, they weren't exactly comfortable. But hell, I wasn't going to give up on them. I wore them till they fit. I silently bore the pain of injured toes and blisters on my heels until my feet and the shoes became properly acquainted.

Interviews
I cannot recall all the numerous times Old Faithful was called upon to add some flair to my attire for an impromptu interview. I am inclined to believe that each man's survival story is linked to his pair of shoes.

The presentations I have made to one panel or the other wearing the blessed shoes would fill a notebook. When the rejection letters came through the mail after one job search or the other,  you guessed right, I had Old Faithful on.

Life Events
Over the course of time that I owned the pair,  I was involved in several life events. When my great granny passed on and I had the honor of reading the eulogy on behalf of great grand children, it was my old pair of shoes which supported me and gave me the needed confidence to face the gathering. 

When I gathered my family members and crossed the Volta lake to ask for a certain lady's hand in marriage from her parents,  I had Old Faithful on. I must add that looking at the way proceedings went that day, I couldn't have asked for a better support system than my old pair of shoes. Indeed a man's stories are etched deeply in the slant of the heels on his shoes.

When I emceed the wedding reception of Fanny Awuye's younger sister (yep, same sister she wouldn't hook me up with), it was Old Faithful which ensured that I was on fleek (as the ladies say it). If Stella Querida bothered to look down at me feet at her wedding, she would have noticed me and my shoes in pomp attendance.

Oh, the miles we have trodden together! From trips to Osu ( don't ask me for what), to Frafraha to chase some girl bi at a university there. When the bank job came calling and I had to go pick up my appointment,  we went together. And by this time, it needed some trips to the area shoemaker to make it 'wearable'. But the kind of leather it was made of ensured that it bounced back soon for the next appearance I needed to make.

But with everything,  the time has come to retire my shoes. I am not ashamed of what it has become. I am proud of all we have achieved together. The places we have gone as a team. Our successes and failures. Now I have new pairs,  and yes, they are for different occasions. Lord knows what new experiences await us.

If you want to know the story of a man, ask him about his shoes.

Real Call or Missed Call?

Dear Mr/Miss HipLife/Highlife musician who has been called,

It is indeed a joyous affair when someone of your "profession" gives his/her life to Christ (that is if it hadn't already belonged to him to begin with) and further decides  to lead others to his saving knowledge.

Because I am most often not present when that heavenly call is received (here I sincerely pray it wasn't a wrong number thing), I won't go into its verification.  But rather I will stick to the message I have for you.

When God calls someone for his work, he equips them too. He gives them the necessary information and connections they require to get the assignment done. One of such equipping, is Training.

You see, God's work is real hard work. It involves lots of letting go and sacrifices.  Someone one like you will have to develop the discipline to stay away from the groupies and booty calls. Good bye to all the wild parties and the fancy dressing and lifestyle.  All these require training and a lot of discipline to stick to the plot.

So, here is what I say. If you ever receive any such heavenly call or you came to see a heavenly missed call, please,  DON'T immediately start a church! You see, God doesn't need your hitherto popularity to promote his work.  Starting a church immediately you receive a call from heaven can be likened to building a house from the roof!

How about going to a Bible School or at least understudying an established preacher? All these will help shape your vision clearly and teach you the rudiments of your calling. You will equally receive training in how to deal with the temptations from your past and also those ahead to come.

Riding on your popularity to immediately start a church and hoping it should sell the word of your calling is a no no. Sooner than later, you will run out of steam and ideas. And a return to your former lifestyle will be the most tempting option.

Anyways, let me end here by saying you really don't need a microphone to propagate the word of God. We are admonished to let our lights shine wherever and whatever profession we find ourselves.  So, go on, sing your love songs alright. Just let your life and what comes out of you be pleasing unto the Lord and he will take care of the rest.

On that note, let me welcome [back] Mr All4Real if what I hear about his return to Highlife music is true. Dude was our last standing HighLife musician until he got called. I must say I miss his tunes.

Yours sincerely,

Prosper Afuti,
(The disappointed priest)

My Daily Trotro Ritual

Yet another morning again; after tugging down this hilly street

on that dusty road which makes you brush your shoes first opportunity you get,

I finally reach the Trotro station to the shouts of "Lapaz, Lapaz, Lapaz, last two"

from the mate with the blackened skin like he just woke up from the oven of the 

Fante baker up the street whose name it appears I am cursed never to remember

But I digress, back to the driver's mate and his shouts which he doesn't look happy doing though

Soon it is full, but we can't find the driver; hisses and sighs reign in the bus

the mate can't tell as the passengers continue to yell; hmm, today the driver will see hell

Aaah, there he is! We see him walking hurriedly to the bus as he tries to zip up his trouser in an attempt to tuck away his exposed manhood; smiles and shy looks abound at this sight.

The female passengers try to hide their excitement at this but the glint in their eyes give them away

Needlessly, driver says "Me pa wo kyɛw...in an attempt at an apology.

Soon we are on our way & the mate does the traditional "yes" indicating that all should bring forth the fare. He hurriedly announces that he doesn't have change since this is their first trip of the day;

Anyone who brings out bigger denominations is met with a stare but well, we just don't care!

This morning, my fellow passengers are a mix of sex, and occupation; 

I have had days I was the only male

The passenger to my right is a young lady; she keeps stealing glances at me; 

It must surely be the new perfume I am wearing today doing the trick

But hey, no Trotro romance here; my mouth P.O.P will not let me dare

The balding middle-aged man seems upset with someone on the phone

He keeps yelling on top of his voice forgetting he was in public

I pity whosoever is on the other end of that line; he might just get a beating today

As if the baby crying right behind on the next seat and who won't be pacified by the luscious breasts of his mother isn't making enough noise, the driver has just turned on the radio and the volume is enough to add to the din in here;

With their exaggerated storytelling which they pass for news, the newscaster of the Twi radio station bleats out loudly more bad news about the government. Hmmm, poor JM

Won't those sitting by the young Lil' Wayne wannabe tell him that we have enough on our minds to have him do his own version of Lollipop? And he is listening to it over a fake Chinese Beatz by Daddy Lumba headset;

At least, shut up and listen to it alone!!

Wow!! the lady in front of me is showing her waist beads as she gets down at her stop; her T-shirt is too short to cover it! I guess it is time for the men to also have curved smiles on their faces today

 

Someone keeps coughing badly from the back; I say a silent prayer not to catch any germs

Oh dear, the elderly woman who sat behind the mate will certainly need stitches on skirt

Another sad victim of a sharp metallic end of a seat ripping through the hem 

And why does the dude to my left keep looking over the shoulders of the young man in the seat in front?

Seems he wants to read whatever the man is typing on Whatsapp

Dear diary, I am at Lapaz now, I have to get down and cross this street

Ooops! I almost forgot my change!! hmmm, it is a typical day in my daily ritual of Trotro

To all members of Trotro Diaries page on Facebook

Aphrodisiac use among the youth: a worrying trend

Last weekend, whilst still recovering from the rather disgraceful end to the Black Stars' World Cup dream, I walked into a pharmacy to pick up some painkillers . As I entered the pharmacy, I chanced upon a group of young men in their late 20s and mid 30s at the counter. I picked up bits of their interaction with the attendant at the pharmacy and watched as they gleefully talked about the "drug" they were purchasing. 

 

Something about the interaction got the group to burst into bouts of laughter. Whilst still standing there waiting for my turn to be served, I heard one of them tell the rest in Twi, "aduro wei b3ma wu ako 3 rounds straight". To wit, "this drug will make you perform 3 rounds of sex at a go". This comment gave the young men away about the drug they were buying. Aphrodisiacs.

 

I smiled as I wondered why strong and energetic young men needed aphrodisiacs at their ages to please their women. Anyways, no sooner than that, it was my turn and I could not help but inquire a bit more about aphrodisiac use among young people which I later found out is on the increase lately.

USERS

According to the attendant, Elsie, their clientele base is made up largely of young people between the ages 25 and 38 years just like the group I met. She also intimated that most purchases are made on Fridays leading into the weekends. She however indicated that they have had much younger people walk in to buy aphrodisiacs. Most of their customers were males but they also encounter females once in awhile. A normal male adult is at his sexual prime between these years and should be able to perform at 'full capacity" without the aids of any stimulants or aphrodisiacs. So I found it a bit unusual the increasing numbers of males who are turning into sexual enhancing drugs for "stamina" and "vim" to perform. Are we looking at a society of randy young people who are now exploring all avenues to experiment with their sexual prowess? What could be accounting for this sudden surge for aphrodisiacs?

TYPES

I also found out that there were various types of aphrodisiacs; to think that I never noticed them in all of my previous visits to the pharmacy shop, beats me. There they were with fantastic names and colourful pictures of virile men and women with some intimate parts displayed on their boxes. Stone, one such aphrodisiac, promises a three hour erection to any one who dared to use it. I am told this particular one is quite popular among patrons. Black Diamond is another one which promises the same blissful time of pleasure. Spanish Fly, I hear, can turn the heads of the most reluctant lady if administered in drinks and other such medium. This sent shivers down my spine as I wondered how many ladies may have fallen to unscrupulous persons who gave them drinks laced with it.

Most of these products especially those at the pharmacies and drug stores are from destinations unknown; there are often no clearly stated country of origins on the packaging. Some are also known to be from China.  It is thus difficult to confirm their safety for use. There are no indications they have undergone any quality check with the appropriate regulatory bodies such as the Ghana Standards Authority, and the Food and Drugs Authority.

But then, aphrodisiacs are not limited to the foreign ones. These days, it is a common sight to see table top herbal medicine stands with their sales persons championing one herbal concoction or the other which they claim will make a man "go on long journey". These stands usually have carvings of the male phallus displayed as main attractions. I am informed they are very well patronized. Sometimes, sellers of such local aphrodisiacs board public transport and display their potent wares.

Television and radio ads are not spared as viewers and listeners are bombarded each day even during prime time with one advert of local liquor which allegedly also have aphrodisiac qualities. It appears to be the marketing norm lately to tag liquor with the aphrodisiac potency to boost sales  and patronage.

RISKS

Aphrodisiac use does come with some risks as pointed out to me by the pharmacy attendant who was blushing at this point. I was shocked to hear of tales of men being dashed to the emergency rooms with a long term erection a condition known in medical terms as Priapism. There are also stories of some who died after long hours of "enhanced" sex bouts. For those who lived to tell the stories, long use of such enhancement drugs finally results in infertility and sexual dysfunction. The lost of valuable human resources through such avoidable and preventable deaths is one which cannot be quantified. 

I believe we should be worried about the proliferation of such drugs on our market especially when no proper checks about their safety have been carried out. Of concern to us as a society also, should be on the reasons why young people especially the men, are going in for aphrodisiacs as a means of boosting and showing off their virility. The advertising of local liquor as an aphrodisiac must also be checked since it can promote excessive alcohol intake and encourage inappropriate behavior especially among young people.

Stunned by the revelations from the pharmacy attendant,  I walked out without picking up my drugs with a worried look on my face as I wondered what a horny society we are gradually becoming.

OF OUR DAYS AND CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

I am not so sure if they do it like this these days but, back in my primary school days, Our Day was such a big deal. It was easily the best part of school life at the primary level. Our Day (I don't know how it got to be called so) was the last day of a school term (and often the end of an academic year) and  it was a day of fanfare and merry making.

 

On Our Day, we wore our "Christmas dress" and our nice shoes to school and ate home cooked meals. Unlike these days when kids eat Jollof rice for breakfast and gulp down bottles of Coke and Fanta without any care, in my primary school days, Our Day was among the few occasions and opportunities a child had to relish the sweet taste of a bottle of Coke, Fanta or Sprite. And oh, we savored every drop of it. 

But then, it was all not about just one day. We would decorate our classrooms with paper ribbons days or weeks ahead of Our Day. In the absence of glue, we made sticky starch from dough to hold the paper ribbons together. Stubborn kids played with the starch and splashed some on their school uniforms but who cared, those uniforms were probably seeing their last days as new ones were to be expected when the next academic year began. Then came the balloons; in bright colours, shapes and sizes they adorned the classrooms and gave them a more celebratory fervour. But I never liked them; their rubbery scent always got me nauseous and the fear of them exploding into pieces always gave me the jitters.  

 Our Days always started the day before; you could easily notice that indeed it was going to be a jolly time once again. There was rice, meat, fish and all other ingredients needed for the meal. It is important to mention here that such meals were not eaten on a regular basis at home. No way! One had to deal with the likes of Banku, Akple, Yam, plain Rice & Stew as part of the menu on a normal basis; ain't nobody got time to be fixing Jollof rice and curried rice for children regularly. 

I hardly slept on the nights before Our Day not with adrenaline gushing through my veins looking for an exit. And anticipation of what a good day it was going to be. But then as hard as I tried to stay awake into the next day, sleep would always finally come for me and leave me with dreams. The first smell to hit my nostrils in the morning was the sweet aroma of Jollof rice, and chicken as I quickly make a dash into the kitchen to ascertain that my Our Day meal was ready. For most of us, we bought the 'soft drinks' on the morn of the event and boy, were we not glad to dash to the neigbhourhood store to collect our chilled bottle of Coke or Fanta. After a quick bath, we were ready to go for Our Day, as we looked dashing in our dress, and shoes (back in those days, I wore sneakers popularly called Camboos) and our food carefully tucked away in a nice picnic basket. 

For most of us children, Our Days were good photo opportunities;I have seen a couple of pictures taken on such occasions and the memories and emotions of good days gone they evoked are priceless. Of important mention here is the fact that the pictures were not instant or taken with digital cameras of today. Neither were they taken using camera phones which have become common place now. Definitely, there were no selfies on Our Day. A group picture of friends or the class were the norm then. Often, these pictures were submitted to the class several weeks later by the photographer. 

Our Days were not always fun days. There was often the case of someone dropping priceless chinaware or plate from home and the fear of a reprimand from an aggrieved mother (and I must confess he or she would be getting away lightly if that was all they received for their carelessness). I have always wondered why most parents allowed their children to bring to Our Day, the precious plates and other expensive kitchenware. But then I believe it was equally an occasion to showoff the riches of the home.  Many a bowl cover have been misplaced on such a day; never to be found as they drifted into history of the occasion. 

The fanfare of the day came to an end with the last school assembly session for the year. Most of whatever the teachers were yelling to our young faces were lost on us as we looked forward to going back to the classrooms to say a final goodbye to our mates. Term reports were given out on Our Day. For those who failed the exams or were repeating the class, whatever joys of the day they brought along quickly dissipated into thin air as the bleak unknown stared them in the faces. 

 

-2014

 

For Lawrencia Zigah

Of letters & teenage yummy feelings: relics of the ancient art of love letter writing

 

Do you remember the first love letter you ever wrote? How about the first one you received? Can you spare a minute to try recall the emotions which flooded you as you opened the envelop (usually scented) to read the words of your dearest one? I believe your heartbeat went a notch up as the sweet "nothings" of love filled your head. The wait between the time we so quickly reply such letters and get a response is often an intense one. If you were in the boarding house then, you looked forward with feverish anticipation to the days letters are delivered. Stories were told of people writing letters to themselves when it appeared they were not favored much.

If you were not in school then, it was a mad dash for them when daddy was back from work and he passed by the mail box to pick up letters. It was always easy to go back to the letters and reread them, feel all mushy-yummy again as butterflies of love gush through your tummy and render you momentarily silly as you waded through the day effortlessly carried along on the wings of love.

In these days of social media, SMS,  Whatsapp, E-mail, and Twitter, I wonder if these same emotions, which the  love letters of old evoked in us still exist. Methinks that whatever loveydovey emotions there are these days,  they are transient and well, with one click of a button or swipe of a finger one can easily delete any memories or records of such letters. 

I remember my love letter writing days with such glee. Those days, you needed a special pen for such letters; thankfully a cute stationary shop down the street was my haven. I would carefully choose my pen, and move on the next must-have accessory; the writing pad. Over here, one did not pick just any kind of pad to write on. Which ever one you settled on often reflected the interests of the recipient; a pad with flowers on or butterfly were quite popular then. One could also settle for a beautiful seaside picture which added some softness and serenity to the letter.

Back in those days, it was quite popular to start a love letter with the following lines (after the affectionate salutation): 

"Dear Lorlor,

The sweet chocolate hills (i have always wondered if these hills really exist) have given me the opportunity to write you these few words........."

These opening lines (or a revised standard version of them) were often a constant in most love letters; and according to connoisseurs were enough to melt the hearts and emotions of one's loved one. Letter writing in general is (was) an art and a writer had to sit down, cogitate and come up with the perfect lines to convey the perfect mood to the recipient, and love letter writing was no exception of this requirement. Very often, I would read such letters several times over right at the post office as I smiled like a satisfied kitten with careless abandon.

 

When I finally made it home, it was one last read before bed, and you guessed right, I had sweet dreams the whole night. I was sure to spend the next day plotting my most appropriate response and by the end of the second day, it would be in the post before night fall. Oh, it appears I have forgotten something; a rather unpardonable error if our love letter was to be well received. The envelope!!

 

The envelope was the carrier of love tidings and hence must reflect thus. A colorfully decorated one was most preferred in such dealings but then if the cost was too high and the budget was too tight for a young boy like me who was 'powering" his love with pocket money, then a white Eno Serwaa envelope should suffice. This was often well decorated with flower patterns and some went further to add a dash of their favorite perfumes. I must mention here that much care was taken in addressing the envelope appropriately and the best handwriting was utilized at this point.

And so it went that the love affairs of our teenage days were carried on the wings of an aged and almost outdated craft of love letting writing. An art which sadly is fast eroding for nothing ever replaces a good mood, a nice pen and a beautiful note pad to trigger a flurry of words meant to evoke the wildest passions in a love interest.  

 

These days, with fast SMS, Whatsapp & Facebook, much thought is not given to the art of constructing a sweet love letter. If push comes to shove and love turns sour, a quick phone call to terminate ties is deemed appropriate behavior these days. Sadly enough, when my lover's attention waned, a phone call to me was all it took to break off the friendship and the art of love letter died with it.

 

After all, who had money to spare on love lost? But, that is another story all together. 

 

For Lorlor Adi Gbafa

Of wizards, football, money and societal values: the Ghanaian Story

I am still yet to come to terms with the revelation by self acclaimed most powerful jujuman in Ghana Kwaku Bonsam that he is the cause of the injuries of Portuguese football star Christiano Ronaldo. Ever since he burst into the limelight some five or so years ago, Kwaku Bonsam has not spared any "opportunity" to tell us all about just how powerful he is and compares himself to the legendary Okomfo Anokye of old Asanteman. He has strutted about town with a swag of a latter day hip-hop artiste and lives a flamboyant lifestyle as he seeks to give some modern taste to his trade in esoteric realms. In case you didn't know, he has a website which is kept updated.

 

Kwaku Bonsam spent a year or two in the Bronx of New York and his daily exploits were captured in film as cameras followed him about like he was a member of the Kardashian tribe. But, wait, he is a jujuman man, a witch doctor, from Ghana.

 I still remember one morning in 2009 when he was given a slot on TV3 morning show to display his powers. I watched as he conjured money from god knows where to the gleeful excitement of the show host. Ever since that time, a question has nagged me so long for answers; where are we going as a country as far as science and technology and hard work supported with research, are concerned?

Not a day passes by without a new movie being released unto the Ghanaian market by  Kumawood (name for the local-largely Kumasi based-movie industry especially). Most of these movies usually go along the story line of people dabbling in the occult and fetish practices, witches and wizards, dragons running amok and benevolent spirits blessing their adherents. If movies are a reflection of the sociocultural outlook of a people, then it is indeed sad to note that they indeed do not present a good view about Ghanaians and the values we hold dear as a society. 

In the years gone by, values such as hard work, diligence and the strive for excellence were held in high esteem. This is however fast eroding by the day as people seek other "means" of making money and enjoying societal goods. These days, fetish priests, mallams, and juju men jostle for airtime to advertise their wares on radio and television. Some are known to be sponsors of prime time news on some radio and television stations much to the chagrin of our collective sensibilities. The society is saddled with the burden of young men and women dabbling in the occult and amassing wealth their parents could only dream of in a fufu induced dream. Stories abound about some of them dying horrible and disgusting deaths after they failed to meet their end of the contract with juju men or the years they were given to enjoy their wealth expiring.

 



Kwaku Bonsam

 

Have we as a society sat down to ponder about the dangers of promoting such bizarre and twisted wealth creation avenue by our young people? What sort of future are we leaving behind for posterity if we adopt a policy of "ways and means" and "the end justifies the means"? If we continue to let the likes of Kwaku Bonsam to hold sway and dictate the values of society, and we push hard work, diligence, investment in the background, we should not be surprise if young people start slaughtering their mothers in the names of sacrifice for a money rain.

 

We seem to have relegated the importance of science, and research into appropriate technology to the background in our quest to deal with our numerous problems and are on the look out for benevolent spirits to have mercy on us and rain money on us. As for those so-called men of God selling "blessed water" & "frytol" as quick fix avenues to riches, their story will be told another day. 

In the mean time, I wish Kwaku Bonsam will channel his so-call powers to helping us deal with our energy crises. Can we have some unusual rains at the Bui Dam which is close to a shutdown due to falling water levels? How about calling upon some dwarfs to  "arrest" the falling currency? Oh, wait, that will be too much to ask for I guess. That will be him doing some good with his "powers' for a change. Rendering Christiano Ronaldo injured for the World Cup, is a more worthier course in his estimation. He should just as well, cripple all the players of the world cup teams so the cup is given to Ghana and case close; we have won the cup!!

This is the sort of society Ghana has become after some 57 years of independence; one where Sakawa boys (and girls) are the heroes and role models for most of our youths. One where juju men and occults blatantly advertise their services and have become the first point of resolution for life's troubles. A society where the motto is easily "get rich or die trying, any means possible".